I, Romulan Story 04 Shore Leave
by kasviel
Summary: SLASH. YAOI. The first half of my new story in the I, Romulan series. A shore leave break on Romulan trading outpost Zireka IV introduces Bochra to a melting pot of non-Federation commerce. But secrets are stirring in the desert city of Jhimm. Rumors of Spock infiltrating Romulan territory. Rumors of Cardassian involvement. Rumors as loud as a whisper. Can they be true?


**Author's Notes**

This is the 4th installment of my "I, Romulan" series of fan fictions. I would be lying if I didn't say that this is definitely my longest and most original set of stories. While I have always seen the amazing universe created by the Star Trek mythos very clearly, this fascination with the enigmatic Romulans had developed into quite the foothold upon which to build my own little unofficial slice of it. Who can say what inspires us? For me, I've gotten much more than I ever thought from that one episode that started it all, season three's "The Enemy". This is the way I wish the show had explored the Romulan side … albeit with a little of my own personal tastes (slash romance, etc) thrown in for good measure.

This story takes place three months following the prior one, and largely takes place in a new setting: the Romulan outpost planet of Zireka IV. This is the most open this world of mine has been. The first time, we saw into a Romulan ship, the second and third stories took place on Romulus itself, and now we see a Romulan trading colony. By 'open' what I mean is that this colony is a hub in the Alpha Quadrant, and so it is occupied by the races who do trade with Romulus, such as the Ferengi, the and Cardassian Union. While the Romulans are xenophobic, I imagine that they do (must!) conduct business with other races, and that they must have some outposts such as this. No organization as large as the Romulan Star Empire would survive without intergalactic commerce. The way I believe the Romulans view such outposts and colonies are as "necessary evils", and I have portrayed that in some of the comments the characters make concerning Zireka IV. Readers take note that the opinions expressed by these characters are solely the opinions of the characters, and that I in no way have prejudices towards any fictional science fiction race (or real world human one, for that matter).

I credit being able to understand the ST universe (not world-building with this series, but universe building) more fully to Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I've watched that over the course of the past couple of years, and it has actually tied with Star Trek: The Next Generation as my favorite ST series. I love the way DS9 added a dose of realism to the mythos, not shying away from racial, religious, or class wars. The series does not preach, but it does portray the dark side of the ST universe without apology, without sugarcoating, in a way that none of the prior series ever did, not even TNG, which could go rather dark from time to time. DS9 also showed us a non-Federation viewpoint, through its smart multi-species cast of characters (Ferengi, Cardassians, and Romulans, oh my!). DS9 expanded the universe, and I've used many points taken from that series to portray the same big, open, beautifully _inhabited _worlds of the ST universe.

There are smaller things explored in this story that were featured in DS9, such as the Ferengi, Dabo, and latinum- I was much too happy to discover latinum while viewing DS9, since I always wondered what intergalactic currency was used in the ST universe. There are also larger things taken, such as the characters of Elim Garak and Gul Dukat. Watching DS9, I really wondered about their pasts, which seemed to span a bit of time. There was a lot of room to explore it, especially the feud between Dukat and Garak. I gave them a back story that covers the start of the feud, and delve into its development. It is a little dark, and Garak, I warn you now, is quite the psychopath here. Why? Because you get a sense that he _was _quite the psychopath during his Obsidian Order days, he himself has boasted of this fact several times over the course of the series. He also had the emotion-controlling chip still in full use in his brain during these days. He is not very sympathetic here, DS9 covered that side of him thoroughly, but then, neither is Dukat. I'm happy with my usage of them, while everyone may not agree with it, and I think they make a good pair of adversaries for my Romulan cast.

Going back to the Romulan side of the story, this takes place somewhere along the TNG timeline. I don't have a great grasp on the timeline, but to my knowledge (and Wikia research), it is at least plausible that these events may have been happening during seasons three to four of TNG. Really, the only important thing to know about where this story fits into the timeline, is that it takes place _before _season five's "Unification" two-parter. I have used this arc before, as I mentioned Neral (a major player in that arc) taking a seat on the Romulan senate in the last story. At this point, Dukat was not yet assigned to Terok Nor, and Garak's career with the Order was still intact. Other than that, I have left the timing of this story, like all my stories, pretty open to interpretation.

As usual, the story uses the Romulan language as much as possible, using what I have been able to glean from the internet. I do this solely because I like the flavoring, and due to the fact that universal translaction technology aside, some words are just best left expressed in their native tongue. Translations always follow in brackets, of course, for those of us who are not fluent in Romulan. I would have liked to have used Cardassian interjections, but apparently the Cardassians do not _have _a language. I searched, but the most exotic Cardassian term I could ever find was "kanar". Woe is Cardassia.

On a final note, romances and personal dramas aside, this story is more of an event arc than the previous ones. Ever since the "Unification" arc, I always wondered about Spock's journey to Romulus, and his quest for supporters of his plans to unify Romulus and Vulcan. Spock is always a mysterious, rather romantic figure, very reminiscent of the intellectual heroes of older literature, particularly the Victorian age. Given the fact that he brought his agenda to Romulus and the Romulan people, I would be remiss not to give him a cameo. All right, a little more than a cameo. I won't spoil any more than that. This arc will continue into the next installment, which is coming soon (nearly completed). This is the first of two parts, like the last pair of stories. It simply ran too long, and I was forced to split it between two separate entries here on ffnet. But it builds suspense! No? I promise, the conclusion will be up soon.

It has been a long time since I've posted anything. Writers' block, it is completely unfair that a mere fan fiction writer can be subject to it, but there it is. There are also personal reasons, and life reasons, and a mess of things that I won't subject _you_, dear readers, to. Whatever is going on, though, I appreciate the reviews and reads on my fanfiction net account very, very much. I read every single one, and they always make my day, the mere fact that someone has actually taken time to spend it with my odd musings is incredible to me. Thank you for reading, and thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy it. Obviously, feedback is always welcome!

**Kasviel**

username "kasviel" on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr

**01**

"Why do you always win?"

"Why do you always whine?"

Bochra sighed, shutting his eyes in pain. He was laid out spread eagle on the black training mat, after hitting it so hard the wind had been knocked out of him. He thought the back of his skull might have cracked. He heard a familiar chuckle overhead, and squinted up.

Riov [Romulan equivalent of the Starfleet rank of "Captain"] Tomalak was smirking down at him, shaking his head. Despite his expression, there was a sympathetic expression in his dark, almost obsidian eyes. He offered a hand.

Trying to cling to a shred of pride, Bochra refused the hand. He struggled to sit up, though his head was pounding. Apparently, he was not fast enough, because Tomalak bent down, took him by both shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. Bochra was dizzied by the sudden movement, and Tomalak held him up. He took a medical device from a table and removed Bochra's hand from the bump on his head he had been clutching.

"Hold still," Tomalak ordered. He hit Bochra's hand when he tried to touch the bruise again. "I said, still!"

Bochra put his hands by his sides, flinching. Tomalak turned on the device and ran its beam over the bump. The pain began to subside.

"I normally would not heal you, since pain makes the fighter, but we'll be landing on Zireka IV today, and I need you at your best," Tomalak said. "The image of the Romulan Galae ["Romulan Star Navy"] is everything on these horrible outposts."

Bochra frowned, squinting one eye as one last sharp pain rang through his head. "I thought Zireka IV was our most controlled, civilized outpost?"

"It is," Tomalak said grimly. "It is civilized by outpost standards, but that still makes it more of a cesspool than the worst slum on Romulus. Even with a military base only a short distance from its cities, that alien-filled trading post is still a filthy, teeming ghetto!"

Bochra met his eyes. "Aren't you being a little judgmental?"

"No." Tomalak was carefully mending the youth's head. He finished, put the device down, and bent Bochra's head down to kiss the spot. "Better?"

Bochra smiled sheepishly. "I'm not much of a Tenalri [One style of Romulan martial art] student, am I?"

"You're very fast and you learn the forms quickly," Tomalak assured him, squeezing his shoulder. "You must control yourself more tightly, however. There needs to be precision. You must channel your anger into the blow at the very right moment. I had the same problem when I was starting out, myself."

"Did you?"

Tomalak smiled nostalgically. "Yes. Many do. The only pupil I have ever seen able to balance their physical motivations with their emotional ones from the start was my son, Narak. I suppose he gets that amount of restraint from his mother."

Bochra grimaced. "I see."

Tomalak gave him a puzzled look. "What's that face for? You can't possibly be jealous of Narak?"

"Why would I be?" Bochra said. "He is only twelve years older than I am, yet he is Riov of his own Warbird, he comes from a successful House, his mother has the power of the Tal Shiar [The Romulan Secret Police, similar to Cardassia's "Obsidian Order"], and he has the girl I might have married all to himself! What reason could I possibly have to be jealous of him?"

Tomalak raised his eyebrows. "So, you would rather be my faelirh [Romulan term for "son"] than my lover? You wound me, boy."

Bochra blushed, his face turning a coppery shade distinct to Vulcans and Romulans. "N-no, I'm not saying that," he said hastily. He turned to Tomalak and put his arms around the man's neck. "How could I even begin to think that? No, I'm only jealous of his fortune, that's all."

Tomalak kissed him indulgently. "Let's shower. We'll be needed on the bridge soon."

They left the small training area that was screened off from the rest of Tomalak's private quarters, and went into the spacious, if simple, bathroom. Bochra peeled off his close-fitting athletic clothes, as Tomalak, eying his slim, toned body, ran the shower.

"What did you mean, when you said that Narak has the girl you might have married 'all to himself'?"

Bochra paused before stepping into the shower. "I didn't mean that I would have married Saeihr, I only meant-um-"

Tomalak stood before the youth, who was suddenly aware of the vulnerability of his nakedness. Bochra stepped back, but Tomalak loomed on him.

"Do you mean to tell me that Saeihr, daughter of Jarok, is aboard my _son's _ship?"

"S'vrian had it done," Bochra said uncertainly. "She never made you aware of it?"

"No." Tomalak walked past him and removed his shirt. "She made sure I would be off-planet before I heard. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't think about it. I'm sorry."

Tomalak smiled wearily, rubbing his shoulder. "It isn't your fault. S'vrian is Tal Shiar. I could not circumvent her will even if I tried. Knowing beforehand would have done nothing."

He finished undressing, and walked into the smoothly running water. Bochra still looked a little nervous, so he pulled him in by the hand. Bochra was relieved, and sidled up to him with a lascivious kiss.

"Mmmm, naughty boy," Tomalak chuckled. "We are only supposed to be washing up before landing."

"We don't get enough time alone," Bochra pointed out, kissing the man's chest, and then his collarbone. "I want to enjoy it."

"We get plenty of time together!" Tomalak exclaimed. "I've been illegally using the transporters to beam you from your quarters to mine practically every night!"

"And beaming me back every morning. I miss spending our days together."

Tomalak snorted in amusement, watching his lover as he pressed his hands and other body parts against him lustily. "Is that why you began our Tenalri lessons?"

"No, not ... not really." Bochra smirked. "Although that is a perk."

Tomalak turned him around roughly, so Bochra faced the slate-like shower wall. He kissed the youth's neck, murmuring, "Mmm. For us both."

**02**

"Will we get shore leave?"

Tomalak sighed. This was the first time he was commanding a ship with Bochra, as his lover, on board, but it was not the first time he had captained with a demanding lover. Bochra's constant demands, even phrased delicately, were irritating.

"If I give the crew shore leave, I will announce it when we dock," Tomalak said shortly. He was dressing, already in his slacks and slipping on his broad-shouldered tunic. "And my decision will not have anything to do with you."

Bochra was a bit stung by the remark, and came up to Tomalak. His slacks hanging low on his waist, he kissed the man deeply and intricately. Tomalak embraced him tightly, and then held him at arms' length.

"You will not seduce me into telling you," Tomalak told him sternly. "Favoritism has no place in the chain of command, and military business has no place in the bedroom."

Bochra went to sidle up to him again, but Tomalak turned him to the mirror. "Get dressed, khre'Arrain [Equivalent to the Starfleet rank of "Lieuttenant Commander"]," he ordered, giving him a hard swat on the bottom.

Bochra sighed, but followed the order with a grudging "Ie, rekkhai [Romulan for "Yes, sir"]". He did not know why Tomalak was so rigid when it came to the chain of command. Protocol was important, but every Romulan soldier knew that knowing how to get around protocol was just as important. Tomalak had a rare talent for covering his tracks when it came to breaking protocol, and he was the most powerful man on the ship, besides. He had nothing to worry about. So, why did he act like a Serona [Mandatory military service that every Romulan must complete after coming of age] grunt that had to follow every single rule?

"We've been out here for almost five months," Bochra said, pulling on his tunic. "I'm not the only one that needs a break. I've had to yell myself hoarse at the centurions, they've been complaining so much."

Tomalak laughed, ruffling Bochra's lank hair. "You've been yelling at the lower centurions because you're enjoying your new rank."

Bochra grinned. "I am, at that. Didn't you do the same when you were first promoted to khre'Arrain?"

"I did, I did," Tomalak laughed. "Ah, it was so long ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday! It is the very first rank that lets you have a taste of real power, the respect not just of Serona scrubs, but of other ranking officers. It feels like your ambitions are finally paying off, and at the same time, it sharpens your ambition to achieve an even higher rank."

"I didn't think about it that way, but you're right," Bochra said, straightening the sash over his shoulder and affixing his rank insignia pins. "There's nothing like having power to make you realize that you want more of it."

"With that attitude, you'll be my Rhaetelh'Saehne [Equivalent to the rank of to the Starfleet rank of "First Officer (Number One)". Abbreviated "RS"] in a few short years," Tomalak said approvingly.

Bochra's smile wavered. "Don't let Dralath hear you say that. I think he already suspects me of having my eye on his position."

"RS Dralath, Bochra," Tomalak corrected him. "Don't get in the habit of forgetting to properly title your superior officers."

"RS Dralath has it out for me."

Tomalak frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"He doesn't exactly make a secret of it," Bochra said. "He keeps calling me the 'Hero of Galorndon Core', knowing how much I hate that incident mentioned. I finally got all the lesser soldiers and my equals to stop mentioning it, but he knows I can't make him stop, so he keeps on. He never takes me on any ahyan [Romulan term for "away team"] he commands, he condescends to me every chance he gets- He hates me."

"He's defensive, and he should be," Tomalak said. "After all, you _are _after his position, the position he's held on my ship for over eight years. It's only natural that you two would have a rivalry."

"It's not a rivalry, it's abuse," complained Bochra. "A rivalry can be won, or at least fought back and forth. Dralath- RS Dralath, I mean, knows that I can't do anything but take it."

"Oh, Bochra, how long have you been with me by now?" Tomalak asked, hanging over the youth's shoulders to check his own hair in the mirror. He looked at Bochra's glum face and shook him. "Have you learned nothing from me?"

Bochra turned his face to Tomalak's, searching his eyes. Tomalak had a mischievous smile on his face, and in a flash, Bochra could see the young soldier he must have been when he first made khre'Arrain.

"There are less direct ways to win a fight," Tomalak informed Bochra, stroking his cheek. "The only way to best a superior is to find one of these ways."

Bochra closed the small gap between their profiles and kissed him. "Mmm, and do you know one of those ways?"

"If I tell you any more, I'll be solving your problem for you," Tomalak told him. "And you don't want to be that kind of man, do you?"

Bochra hesitated. Tomalak shook him lightly. "No, I don't," Bochra said grudgingly. He straightened his uniform indignantly. "Why would I want to be spoiled at all by the man that loves me?"

Tomalak pushed Bochra from the mirror to give himself a last look over. "You'll lose your sharp edge if I spoil you, Bochra," he told him. "You're the type that is capable of great ambition, but you get lazy easily. Why do you think I'm so hard on you?"

"Because it turns you on."

Tomalak gave him a look. "Besides that," he said. "I discipline you because you need to be pushed. You always have. Also, you can be a bit of a rebel."

"A rebel?" Bochra echoed in surprise. "Me? I'm the most loyal-"

Tomalak held up a hand to shush him. "You're not a vang'radam ["Traitor"], but you can go against convention if you think it's 'right'. You're still young enough to value having morality more than your mnhei'sahe [Romulan term for personal honor and the value of a person. Their "face", as in face value.]."

"Aren't morals like loyalty and honesty vital to mnhei'sahe?"

"Only if they're directed to the Empire."

Bochra scowled. "You're talking about Galorndon Core again! You promised you would stop bringing it up!"

"I only bring it up because you're going to have to keep it in mind on Zireka IV," Tomalak told him. He put his hands on the youth's shoulders. "Listen to me, this is our largest and most active trading outpost in the quadrant. Every non-Federation race in the Alpha Quadrant comes through here to trade. The image of the Empire means everything on these worlds; one mistake, and we lose face in front of hundreds of races that look to us for leadership. Ssuaj-difv ["Do you understand"]?"

"Ie, rekkhai," Bochra said, eyes wide. He had never been to an outpost or colony that was inhabited or visited by non-Romulans before, and now the idea began to unease him.

"And while you may think of shore leave as a vacation, remember that you will be representing the Galae and the Romulan Star Empire every second you're on Zireka IV," Tomalak said gravely.

Bochra smiled. "So, we _are _getting shore leave!"

Tomalak glowered at him."Ie, but do not use it as a holiday and embarrass yourself!" he snapped. "Remember to not bring shame to the Galae, and especially not to **me**. That is why I brought up Galorndon Core."

"I understand, I understand!" Bochra exclaimed. "Don't befriend any aliens."

Tomalak pulled him close by the front of his uniform. "Don't befriend any aliens, or I will give you a beating that will make the one I gave you after Galorndon Core seem like a happy memory. Ssuej'd'ifv?"

His eyes even wider, Bochra assured him, "I-ie, rekkhai."

Tomalak released him, though he still seemed skeptical. "All right. I'm going to transport you back to your quarters now. Meet me on the bridge. Dismissed."

Bochra stared at him until he was transported away. In his quarters, which were very small but private, he blinked. What had all that been about? Did Tomalak really think he was some kind of alien-chaser?

_Well, I did make friends with that Starfleet man Geordi, _Bochra thought. _And I did sleep with that half-Vulcan Taibak. Most Romulans go through their entire lives not even touching an alien, unless it's to hurt them, of course, and even then, a disrupte__r__ pistol is highly preferable to contact._

Something about the reflection bothered Bochra. As he left his quarters and walked the long corridors leading to the bridge, he tried to figure out the reason for his disquiet. He could think of nothing, and so he shrugged and put it out of his mind.

On the bridge, Bochra gave Riov Tomalak a salute, and went to his post. Tomalak had painstakingly taught him how to conduct himself when they were on duty over the past months, since this was the first time they were serving together while having an affair. He was not to make eye contact more than was necessary, never to address Tomalak with a shred of informality, never to question him, never to ask any consideration or favor of him, and to never, ever show him affection. Bochra had found the constantly repeated rules tedious, but after a few months on duty, and a couple of non-playful punishments, they had stuck.

The shift ended, and the bridge crew went to take their meal hour. The cafeteria was not too full today, as it was an early lunch for the bridge team. They all sat at a single long, metal table on the moderately ergonomic black benches.

"I can't wait to dock at Zireka IV!" one of the centurions said. "Have any of you ever been?"

A stony-faced female replied, "Have _you_? If you had been, you wouldn't be so excited."

"What's so bad about Zireka?" the dejected centurion asked her. "Sure, there's all the aliens, but it's ours, it belongs to Romulus. Everyone here answers to _us_. We're the Galae! We'll get more respect there than on the home world!"

"We're feared there, and laughed at behind our backs, not respected, Kaol," the dark-eyed woman retorted. "Besides, there is nothing we can do there that we can't do on Romulus with our own people."

Bochra felt that strange, nagging feeling again, and turned his eyes down to his food. He did not notice, but Dralath caught the look and watched him ponderously. The Rhaetelh'Saehne of Tomalak's ship did not like Bochra, and was suspicious of him for reasons as vague as Bochra's nagging feeling.

"We can't go to holosuites on Romulus!" Kaol pointed out triumphantly, as if that statement made his entire case. "The only ones on Romulus are privately owned ones that cost quadruple their square footage in latinum. Haven't you ever gone to a holosuite, khre'Arrain Vriha?"

The woman, Vriha, scoffed. "Yes, I made the mistake of allowing a friend to drag me into one run by the most odious Ferengi," she said. "It was humiliating! I had to stand around with fawning holograms of Romulan boy love slaves, while she went off with some hologram of a Vulcan man lover! So, unless your idea of fun is running around with fictional exotic whores, I can't see why you would be so excited over the holosuites."

Kaol blushed as the rest of the table laughed. Dralath had the loudest laugh of them all. He was from the countryside back on Romulus, and had a rough, unsophisticated manner about him. Bochra, urbane from his life in the capitol, found it completely unappealing, and could not fathom why Tomalak had given him such a high rank.

"Well, I still hope we get shore leave on Zireka IV," Kaol said stubbornly. "Holosuites or no, we have five thousand crates of aylihl [The alcoholic beverage known as "Romulan ale"] down in the cargo hold. I'd like to get a chance to drink some of it!"

"Now that's a shore leave plan I can support," Vriha said with a small smile. "Even on filthy Zireka IV."

Murmurs of agreement from the table rippled through the quiet cafeteria.

"We were fortunate to save that cargo ship," Dralath said, "and it's aylihl and other cargo. Damn Klingon raiders! Leaving a perfectly good trading vessel dead in space like that."

"What do you think they did with the crew?" Kaol asked.

Vriha's dark purple-painted lips tightened into a grim line. "What do _you_ _think _they did with them?"

Clueless young Kaol replied, "I don't know."

Bochra winced. He used to say equally stupid things during his early days, and he hated to think back on it. Kaol had just made arrain [Equivalent to the Starfleet rank of "Lieutenant"], at a young age, and he had only been on the bridge because the usual khre'Arrain that tended his post was sick.

"Klingons take their prisoners to their ship, where they force them into unfair fights they can't win," Vriha said, her dark eyes flashing. "After they've beaten them nearly to death, they rip their still-beating hearts out of their chests and eat them."

"They've been known to eat other parts of them, too," Dralath added, unabashedly chomping down his own meal.

Kaol paled. "They-they can't ... That can't be true!" he said, putting his utensils down. "Sentient beings eating other sentient beings is cannibalism."

"Cannibal is another word for Klingon," Dralath chuckled.

Kaol took his food to the disposal unit. Vriha's severe face cracked into a smile, and the whole table burst into laughter. Kaol returned to the table, still looking troubled.

"Don't get so down," Bochra told him. "There are no Klingons on Zireka IV, after all, Arrain Kaol."

Kaol gave him a small smile.

"And he would recognize them, wouldn't you, khre'Arrain Bochra?" Dralath said, turning to his subordinate. "You met one, didn't you?"

Bochra met his gaze, outrage burning in his eyes. "After the Galorndon Core Incident, yes," he said quietly. "The Federation has that pet of theirs, Worf."

"Dirty havam [Derogatory Romulan term for "human"]-run Starfleet," Vriha growled. "They'll take any world into their fold. All they want is power, they're just too cowardly to admit it, so they indiscriminately build their insipid non-empire."

"You know, khre'Arrain Vriha, there are battle programs in the holosuites," Kaol said, brightening. "We could always practice fighting. We could fight anything we wanted: humans, Klingons, even Vulcans."

"I could use some target practice," Vriha admitted.

Kaol smiled a little shyly. Bochra realized that he had a crush on the few years older, battle-hardened Vriha.

"Count me in," Dralath added. He nudged Bochra. "What do you say, khre'Arrain Bochra?"

"Of course, RS," Bochra said. "I've been practicing my pistol fire every day since Galorndon Core."

Vriha made a sound of approval and patted his shoulder. Dralath's eyes acceded defeat, at least for the moment. Bochra was satisfied. If anyone was going to bring up that damned incident, it would be him, and he would use it as he saw fit.

"I'm sorry for the crew of the cargo ship, but it is going to force us to stop at Zireka IV," Vriha said. "I suppose I could use some free time, even in a slum like that."

"Do you think Riov Tomalak will give us shore leave?" Kaol asked Bochra.

Bochra said off-handedly, "I'm sure he will."

"Then he will," Vriha said. She smiled, pointing her fork at Bochra. "You know he is, don't you? After all, he's an old family friend of yours. You even take Tenalri lessons with him, don't you?"

Bochra's guards went up instantly. "Sometimes, if he isn't too busy," he said casually. "I've seen you down in the training room more often than Tomalak and I."

"Yes, you really should think about practicing on your own free time more," Vriha said. Bochra started, and she cut him off, "I know you're a beginner, but I have some books you could borrow, if you like."

"Thank you," Bochra said, surprised at the offer. They were of equal rank, but Vriha had more years than him, and owed him no special respect. "That would be very helpful."

Vriha smiled, some of the hardness of her face softening. "Good. Maybe I'll even give you some pointers on your form."

Bochra smiled, though he glanced away, troubled. He was beginning to see why Vriha was being nice to him, and he did not like the implications. He had learned his lesson about playing it straight with women after the fiasco with Saeihr, and was not looking for romance with anyone but Tomalak.

Fortunately, Kaol picked up on the connection between Vriha and Bochra, and, not to be forgotten, added, "There are lots of Tenalri programs in the holosuites. You can even fight approximations of legendary arena fighters."

_I bet Tomalak would love that, _Bochra thought. _I wonder if I could get him into a holosuite?_

"Sounds promising," Vriha said.

Another khre'Arrain that Bochra could not name mentioned his grandfather, who had had a good run in the combat arenas in the Romulan capitol. Vriha and Dralath joined in the conversation, and so did some other soldiers. Bochra used the diversion to finish his meal, and make a quick escape.

His exit did not go unnoticed. Dralath watched him leave, and frowned slightly. Bochra socialized with his fellow officers enough, but there was always something distracted in his nature, something aloof. Dralath did not trust anyone that kept their core so hidden, especially when they were so close to the Riov.

Dralath left the cafeteria, and took out his PADD [Personal Access Display Device - a touchscreen-navigated device used for communication, information access, information recording, and entertainment (civilian devices only, military ones are locked from providing irrelevant programs or data)]. The location of the Riov could be accessed at any time by the RS and only the RS. He saw that Tomalak was in his ready room, and brought him up on the communication screen. He requested to come up to speak with him in the ready room, and Tomalak gave him permission.

Some minutes later, Dralath entered the ready room. Tomalak did not stand, and Dralath saluted quickly. They were comfortable with their respective commands by now, and shared just a touch of mutual respect, despite Tomalak's superior rank.

In truth, Tomalak liked Dralath. He was uncomplicated, if a bit uncouth, and honest. His natural strength was a great resource for those times when Tomalak's intellect was not enough. Besides, it was always best to have an RS that would never make Riov, as it lessened the possibility of jealousy, spite, and antagonism.

"I hear we'll be having some shore leave on Zireka IV."

Tomalak stiffened. "Oh? And where did you hear that?"

"From khre'Arrain Bochra."

Tomalak grimaced.

"He was caught off-guard, and he did not speak for you," Dralath said. "But the crew already thinks he has a special insight into your plans. They take what he says of your plans as fact."

Tomalak said nothing. He continued going through information PADDs, as if he was not teeming with embarrassment and anger inside. He and Dralath were friends of a sort, but he still could not show him any weakness.

"You have always been fond of Bochra, due to your friendship with and the great debt you owe to his father, Gavik," Dralath said. He sat in the chair on the guest side of Tomalak's desk. "That has never been a secret. However, it's been obvious that you two have gotten closer since the Galorndon Core Incident a year ago. Some believe Bochra has become like a second son to you."

Tomalak paused shuffling the things on his desk. _If only it was that simple and pure._

"I understand that you nearly lost him, and that you realized how important he was to you then," Dralath said. "But even then, your fondness for him... You nearly violated the ceasefire with the Federation over him. You nearly sent the Empire to war."

"I overreacted, I admitted that to you a year ago," Tomalak said. He finally met Dralath's eyes. "Yes, Bochra is important to me, but I promised you that I would never again lose control that way."

"And you haven't," Dralath allowed. "But then again, we have not been off-planet since then until now. And now, you seem to be trying to avoid having to make that choice at all."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, you're keeping him close to keep him out of danger," Dralath said. "You know, he blames me for keeping him off my away teams. He thinks I have it out for him."

"But you do," smiled Tomalak. "Don't you?"

"I mean that boy no harm, even if he does want to replace me one day," Dralath said. "He is young and ambitious, but I don't hold those things against him. How could I? I was the same once. My problem with Bochra is that he can be careless, and he is aware of your favoritism."

Tomalak nodded. "You think that it is giving him an inflated sense of importance."

"I think so."

"I will ... speak to khre'Arrain Bochra," Tomalak said. "As for protecting him, I only wanted to give him a chance to get used to his new rank, and get over all that Galorndon Core business. After this trip to Zireka IV, you can use him in your away teams as you see fit. I won't question it."

"I'm glad." Dralath stood. "I apologize if I came across as rude, rekkhai-"

"No, no, I always appreciate your honesty, Dralath. Is that all?"

Dralath nodded.

"Dismissed, RS."

Dralath went to the door, stopped, and turned back. "Riov Tomalak, I will protect him as much as possible for you."

Caught between gratitude and humiliation, Tomalak managed a tight, "I appreciate it, Dralath."

Dralath saluted, and left. _And I'll protect you from him, _he thought. _If it comes to that._

**03**

They docked at Zireka IV late that night. Tomalak's Warbird smoothly landed in one of the massive ship hangars at a station out in a sprawling desert. The entire planet was orange and beige and brown, as the Romulans had only bothered to completely terraform the islands, which they used for farming. There were massive mountains on the horizon, which the Empire still mined heavily, though the resources were running out. The cities were made of pale terracotta buildings, very tall and with many large, open, uncovered arched windows. There were many trees, their trunks bare and the tops covered in great, fan-shaped green leaves, and neat little gardens in backyards and on rooftops containing colorful flowers and greenery. Even a distance from the city, Bochra could see many lights glowing wanly against the darkening purple-streaked sky. A wave of excitement went through the troops as they came down from the ship, and even Vriha and Tomalak had a glint in their eyes.

It was late, however, and they would bunk in the barracks next to the ship station for the night. It took some doing, but Bochra managed to slip into the Riov's private room unseen late that night.

Tomalak had not been in bed, but staring out a window at the main city beyond. He turned when the door opened, and stared at Bochra. Bochra hesitated, smiled nervously, and came over to him.

"How did you get over here?" Tomalak asked before the youth got too close.

"I told the night watch that I couldn't sleep and took his place," Bochra explained. "No one will expect to see me until the morning."

"Which leaves us with no watchman."

"Who is going to attack the Galae? On a trading post?" Bochra snorted cynically. "Don't worry. We can get away with one night together."

Tomalak turned to face him fully. Even in his long, black night robe, he had the command of a Riov. Bochra stopped trying to sidle up to him.

"And you just decided this, all on your own?"

"I ... I only thought ... " Bochra swallowed. "Didn't you want to see me tonight?"

"If I had wanted to see you, wouldn't I have called for you?"

Bochra frowned, stepping forward angrily. "Don't do that."

"Watch your tone, khre'Arrain," warned Tomalak. "And what am I doing?"

"You're angry at me, and you're punishing me by shutting me out!" Bochra said, unable to keep his tone down. "At least respect me enough to tell me what I did!"

Tomalak scowled, turning back to the window. Bochra came around in front of him.

"Don't do that!" he demanded. "Don't treat me like a child!"

"And how should I treat you?" Tomalak boomed down at him. "Because if I treat you like a soldier, you'll be thrown into a cell for months! Would you prefer that? At least you would have all this respect you suddenly want!"

Bochra flinched. "But what ... what did I do?"

"Where do I begin?" Tomalak yelled. "You tell everyone that I intend to give them shore leave beforehand, you risk exposure by sneaking over here in the middle of the night from a crowded barracks, and you leave this station unguarded for an entire night because you think nothing is going to happen!"

"The shore leave, that was a slip," Bochra said weakly. "And I ... I know coming here was wrong, but I needed to see you. I-"

"THERE ARE NO EXCUSES IN THE GALAE!"

Bochra stepped back from him. "I ... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it won't ... I won't ... I'll be more careful, I promise."

"You don't want to be treated like a child, and here you are, trying to grovel your way out like one," sneered Tomalak. He had been pacing away from him, and now he stopped. "Well, then, tell me. Tell me right now, how do you want to be treated?"

"I didn't mean to do anything wrong," Bochra tried to defend himself.

"We landed on this world to drop off this cargo, and to have a break," Tomalak said. "What if it was a hostile world, and an important mission, that brought us here? A slip of the tongue to the troops, a small decision made rashly, and everything starts to fall apart. I specifically told you not to treat Zireka IV any differently than you would treat any alien planet, and not to drop your guard simply because you would be off-duty. Leave hasn't even started yet, and look at you!"

"I'm sor-"

"Stop apologizing!" Tomalak said in exasperation. He sighed, and came up to Bochra. He tipped his face up by the chin, looked into his eyes. "Bochra, just tell me, how do you want me to treat you? Do you want me to throw you in a cell and put the charges on your record?"

"You can't file the charges," Bochra said. "If you do, you'll have to report that I left the station unguarded to be with you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No!" Bochra said quickly. "No, it's just- that is why I traded posts with the watchman."

Tomalak reached out and gripped the youth's wrist harshly. "I would lie on the report, of course, and so would you. Wouldn't you?"

Bochra searched Tomalak's eyes. Was that fear in his gaze?

"Damn you!" Tomalak snapped, shaking him. "You would do that? You would ruin us both?"

"No. I would lie, of course I would."

"Then why didn't you just say that?"

Bochra hesitated. Tomalak saw the reason in his eyes: he had sensed Tomalak's fear, and was baffled by it. Perhaps he liked it. Tomalak felt his rage returning.

Bochra saw there would be no reasoning with the man. Defeated, he said, despite the shame that burned through him, "I can't spend shore leave in prison, Riov Tomalak."

"I shouldn't be glad to hear that, but I was hoping you would say it," Tomalak smiled cruelly. He dragged Bochra along. "I had expected you to be in need of a lesson before Zireka IV, and now you've given me a reason to give you one."

Tomalak released him when they got to the plain barrack bed. He crossed his arms. "Undress. You wanted to spend the night, so I suppose you will be."

Bochra turned deep red with humiliation, but began to remove his uniform beneath Tomalak's stern gaze. Once he was undressed, Tomalak sat, and guided him over his knees. Bochra wished Tomalak did not favor this position, but he had a feeling Tomalak used it simply because he knew how much it bothered Bochra. He was the sort that enjoyed causing humiliation as much as he enjoyed causing pain.

Wasting no time, Tomalak raised his hand and slapped it down resoundingly against Bochra's bottom. Bochra sullenly stared at the floor, resigning himself to accept the discipline.

"Let this be the very last time that you embarrass me," Tomalak told him, striking him hard. "I told you time and time again that we have to be careful. Why can't you just obey my orders?"

"I didn't mean-"

"I need to know that I can trust you implicitly, or this will never work," Tomalak stressed. "I ... I am not bullying you, or being needlessly domineering. You have to trust me, Bochra."

"I do. I do, it's just ... it's a lot of work, maintaining this ... charade," Bochra said quietly. He shifted on the man's lap uncomfortably. "I ... I made a mistake. I made _mistakes_."

"Mistakes like this ... lead to larger ones," Tomalak said distantly. "The entire system breaks down and tragedy happens, all because of small mistakes and allowances, a slip here and there."

_He sounds like he knows that from experience, _Bochra observed, not daring to speak this out loud. _I wonder ... _

Tomalak lapsed into silence for a time, apparently content to concentrate on spanking the youth's buttocks thoroughly. His palm was very hard, and when he was not holding back in a game, he could cause his errant lover quite a sting. He had to admit, it felt gratifying to not show any restraint. He smirked each time the young man jumped or squirmed, his trim bottom already covered with dark red handprints, the flesh quivering under each slap.

"Do you remember Ta'hrl?"

Bochra lifted his head. How could he forget? Ta'hrl was the younger brother of their previous Hiifvehi'Saehne [Equivalent to the Starfleet rank of "Chief Medical Officer"], Taibak. Because of Tomalak's past affair with Ta'hrl, Taibak had pursued a vendetta against Tomalak for years. It ended when he fell into some kind of affection for Bochra, and got himself reassigned to the ship of the half-human, Riov Sela.

"I had just made Riov when I had that affair," Tomalak said. He was not gracious enough to end or pause the spanking while he spoke. "I was arrogant enough to believe that I had arrived at a destination, that I had attained my ultimate goal. I was a terrible Riov back then, but of course, no one could tell me anything. And I took on a lover. He was a boy, only a Serona scrub, but he flattered me ... it was the only thing he was good at, honestly. But he _was _good at it."

"Ow!"

"Are you yelping about your ass or your feelings?" Tomalak chuckled. He did not relent. "Anyway, I thought that I was untouchable. I had this ship, I had my subservient little lover, and my every word was to be obeyed. I was overconfident, and generous. I liked Ta'hrl, and so I promoted him from Serona early. I gave him charges over the scrubs. I let him have anything he asked for, within reason, or so I thought."

Tomalak suddenly flipped Bochra off his lap. He took the stunned, smarting youth by the arms and wrapped him in a spare robe. He sat him next to him on the edge of the bed, holding both his hands in his own.

"I spoiled him, as I would spoil you, if I didn't know better, if I could," he said gently, wiping the traces of tears from the corners of Bochra's eyes. "Ta'hrl had a soft power over me, one that I gave him. And it was fine. No one said anything, at least not to my face, and everything went on as it should. Then ... we landed on Tri'sae IV- Hmph. I do not have luck with bases numbered 'four', do I?"

Bochra sniffled a little, wiping his eyes. He wanted to lie down, or be held, but did not dare move. Tomalak's temper was not to be tried.

"Tri'sae IV was a filthy little world where we had been foolish enough to set up a colony, right on the edge of the Neutral Zone," Tomalak said, his eyes distant. "This was before the Klingons joined the Federation. They ... attacked Tri'sae, slaughtered the colonists. They were avenging some ship. Imagine! Killing civilians to avenge a strategic military defeat! Disgusting klivam [Derogatory Romulan term for "Klingon"]."

Bochra noted that this was the second time in the day that he had heard Klingon-directed vitriol.

"We landed to find survivors," Tomalak continued. "The massacre made my stomach tie up in knots, my heart almost stop. I had been in combat, seen bad things, but to see those civilians with their limbs torn off, heads bashed in, their chests torn open and their hearts ripped out ... I ... I had to step away to be sick when no one was looking. Nothing I had ever seen compared to that."

Bochra felt Tomalak's grip on his hands tighten.

"Ta'hrl had charge of the Serona scrubs," Tomalak repeated softly. "It was only a mission of mercy. He convinced me to let them go down to the planet to help. They were bored and unmotivated, he said. It made sense. So, I let them go with us ... I let all those ... children ... land with us."

Tomalak paused, looking away. "We were ambushed by a group of Klingons that had stayed behind. They came so fast out of an abandoned house. No one was ready for it. But the centurions reacted with precision. We fell back to defensive positions, found cover, and fired on those dogs. I grabbed Ta'hrl with me, and he just cowered. But no one had time to get the others. They just ... stood there while those, those Klingon cowards cut them down ... "

Tomalak's eyes watered, and he shook his head. Bochra moved closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, clutching the Riov's hand tightly. Tomalak took a long moment to collect himself, though his eyes remained glistening.

"Because of my irresponsibility, because I was too busy spoiling a lover to be the commander of my own ship, those children were brutally slaughtered," Tomalak said intently. He took the youth by the shoulders. "Do you see it now, Bochra? Why I can't make the same mistakes ever again? Why I won't even chance it for you?"

Bochra nodded. "I understand. And I am so sorry."

"I know you are." Tomalak met his eyes directly. "But so was Ta'hrl."

Bochra stared at his hands sheepishly. In a way, the story had taught him the lesson more efficiently than the spanking ever could have. Tomalak kissed him, and pulled him close as he lay back on the bed. He held Bochra to his chest, caressing his arm, staring at the ceiling.

"I love you more than anything or anyone I have ever loved before," Tomalak said. "But if that love ever became a danger, I would have a responsibility to either step down from my command, or give you up."

Bochra looked up at him. "Which would you choose?"

"I don't know," Tomalak said honestly. "But I do know one thing."

"What is that?

"I would never forgive you."

Bochra clung to him tightly, unable to speak. He buried his face in the man's robe, an ominous mood settling over him. As he drifted into a troubled sleep, Bochra decided that he would be having very little fun on Zireka IV.

**04**

The next morning, Tomalak's troops descended upon Zireka IV's largest city, Jhimm, which was named for a serpent native to Romulus. It was an old Romulan tradition to name spaceport cities after animals, and this city had been founded long ago when such customs were still en vogue. These days, the Empire was so large and self-conscious that most cities were given numerical names, or named after a founder, a hero, a historical figure. The Romulans had forgotten how to have fun, apparently. Perhaps they were more like their mother race, the Vulcans, after all.

Watchful eyes surveyed the soldiers on leave, cold, cold light blue eyes. Their owner, one of the resident merchants, scowled at the sight. The Romulans! They had absolutely no idea how grating their arrogant posturing was to other species. Yes, they were feared in their territories. Yes, their Empire was one of the largest and most powerful in the Alpha Quadrant, but still. No army in such needlessly gaudy uniforms could justify that level of egomania.

The watcher smoothed back his thick black hair and checked his reflection in a dusty window. He noticed the scowl and expertly replaced it with the benign smile Romulans expected of all 'lesser' races. He left his shop for the street when the Romulans approached, wearing that smile on his face.

The soldiers broke off into smaller groups. Their postures relaxed a bit. They began to chatter amongst themselves. They looked almost normal as they got near the hotel where they would be staying (free of charge, naturally). Nonetheless, they gave the watcher only a passing glance, a few, who had never seen his species before, looking at him curiously twice. More than a few, who knew exactly what he was and the Romulan history with his world, gave him a jeering look, or mouthed a racial slur as they passed him. The watcher only smiled stupidly, contemplating their demises in beautiful, graphic detail. Damn Romulans.

Well, the watcher would give them theirs. Not to their faces, obviously, but in a more subtle, effective way. He has done so before, and he was here to do so again.

* * *

"You should go out."

Bochra was lying on his back on Tomalak's hotel bed, watching the mobile sculpture affixed to the ceiling tip and turn and rotate in the warm breeze. The planet-like glass orbs threw sunlight all around the ceiling. He had done away with his uniform, and wore only his black underwear. Tomalak was changing into civilian clothing, though he pinned his rank insignia to the high collar of his black shirt.

"I thought you wanted me to stay out of trouble," Bochra said. He rolled onto his stomach to look over at Tomalak. "You were pretty clear about that point."

Tomalak watched him in the mirror as he dressed. "So, even you don't trust yourself to go out?"

"It isn't that, it's ... " Bochra sighed, hanging his head down over the edge of the bed. "It's hard to have fun when you're still sore."

"You're fine." Tomalak came over and sat on the bed next to him. He ran his fingers through Bochra's hair. With his other hand, he pulled down the back of the man's underwear to glimpse the after-effects of last night's punishment. "You've taken worse marks during Tenalri practice."

Bochra pulled his underwear back up and rubbed his bottom. "It still hurts."

"You're sulking."

Bochra shifted on the bed to lay his head on Tomalak's lap. "I always sulk when you spank me." He looked up at him. "And you always comfort me."

Tomalak laughed, kissing Bochra's cheek. "Are we really that repetitive?" he mused, stroking his face. "But I can't comfort you for very much longer. I have people to meet. Yes, even on shore leave, I have duties to attend."

Bochra sat up, pouting. "Attend them later. You're on leave, we all are!" He took Tomalak's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, slowly. "Mmm. Let's enjoy it, hm?"

"I wish I could." Tomalak gave him a second kiss, an arm going around Bochra's waist. "Oh, I wish I could. But it will have to wait until tonight."

Bochra sighed. "What am I supposed to do?" he complained. "I don't want to go out. No one told me how hot this planet is."

Tomalak lightly swatted him. "Get dressed, lightly, since it's so hot. Find your friends, or acquaintances, and explore around. People will get suspicious if you hole yourself up in the hotel on the first day of shore leave."

"Fine." Bochra climbed out of bed, stretched. He rummaged through some of the clothing he had packed. "None of it is light. We left when the cold season was going to come on, and I forgot that the weather on Romulus wouldn't matter out here."

Tomalak was leaning back on the bed, contentedly considering Bochra's young, thin body. The Tenalri lessons had given his leanness some muscle tone, though not enough to detract from his boyishness.

"I bought you some new clothes when I stopped into that shop," Tomalak said. "Look in the bag."

Bochra raised his eyebrows, drawing out very nice beige slacks and a sharply tailored loose white tunic. There were other outfits in his size behind it. "I thought you weren't going to spoil me."

"Only where it concerns the Galae," Tomalak said. "Besides, don't I always comfort you?"

Bochra grinned, climbing into the pants. "Thank you." He slipped on the tunic, and searched around in the bag until he found a light gray belt. "These clothing are expensive."

Tomalak stood up from the bed, coming over to Bochra and looking him over. "And they suit you." He smoothed the youth's hair lovingly, and kissed him. "You look especially handsome, e'lev [Romulan term of affection, similar to "dear", "darling", "love"]."

"So do you." Bochra nestled his face in the man's neck. "We would both look better out of these clothing, however."

"Later," Tomalak said, tearing himself away. He drew a breath, let it out slowly. "See you tonight."

Bochra nodded, though he still looked uncertain. Once he was alone, he lingered in the room. He hated to admit it, but Tomalak's lesson had left more than physical marks. He was afraid of the planet and all it's aliens now, almost paranoid. He could not see himself having any kind of fun.

_But I have a responsibility, _Bochra thought. _Tomalak is right, it will look suspicious if I stay here. Time to put on my mask and charm my fellow soldiers. _

Bochra left the room. He looked for a familiar face in the lobby, but found no one. Starting to lose his nerve, and his temper, he made his way to the bar. Kaol was there, alone, and he took a seat beside him.

"I was hoping you would come around, khre'Arrain Bochra," Kaol said, relieved. "I don't know where khre'Arrain Vriha is, and I don't know anyone else really."

"We're on shore leave, Kaol," Bochra said. "There's no need to use rank titles. Please, don't."

"Sorry, khre- I mean, Bochra," Kaol said sheepishly. "So, after this drink, do you want to go out? I haven't even seen a holosuite yet."

"I am not going to a holosuite today!" Bochra exclaimed. He took a swallow of a moderately strong, alarmingly sweet, beverage. "Besides, I ... I wouldn't exactly know where to find one."

Kaol laughed, and Bochra smiled, beginning to warm up.

"I didn't even know it would be so hot," Bochra added. "It's a desert!"

"I know," Kaol marveled. "I can't stand it. Only a Vulcan could enjoy this weather. Or the Cardassians, I guess. There's quite a few of them around."

"I saw," Bochra said. "They look stranger in person, don't they? Like overgrown snakes."

"I saw a Terran animal that looked like them when I was studying exobiology before Serona," Kaol said. "A lizard called the 'iguana'."

"You studied alien biology? Why?"

Kaol shrugged. "I liked learning about other planets. Well, the environments and the evolution of the creatures there, anyway. I ... I love animals." He looked ashamed of this non-militant interest. "I thought I would be an exobiologist after Serona when I was a kid."

"What changed?" Bochra asked, genuinely interested. "You could have gone back to school after Serona."

"No, I ... couldn't." Kaol paused, staring into his glass. "My father would have died of disappointment. There is no female heir to our House, so it will be passed down the line to me. My father would hate to have the House passed down to a civilian. The House has never been in the command of a civilian."

"Oh. I see." Bochra caught his disapproving tone and told the young soldier more brightly, "Well, Kaol, I'm sure you do your House proud."

Kaol beamed. "Thank you. I try to, rekkhai. I mean, Bochra."

Bochra could not finish the sweet and fruity drink. He tossed some money onto the counter and stood up. "Why don't we see what Zireka IV has to offer?"

Kaol almost tripped, he stood up so fast. "Ie! Let's go!"

They left the hotel for the sun-beaten streets. Without their uniforms, they did not attract so much attention. They looked like any one of the hundreds of thousands of Romulans that populated the outpost.

The shop owners were good with faces, though, and so they were pulled aside and offered free samples of food, drink, and shown a variety of wares. The young men let themselves enjoy the special treatment, daring each other to try this or that exotic treat. Some were good, others were disgusting.

"Might I interest you gentlemen in a delicacy to shame all the rest of the slop being peddled on this street?"

Bochra and Kaol were forced to stop. The light-eyed Cardassian had come out of nowhere, it seemed, and he had boldly stepped directly in their path instead of waving them over. Bochra was annoyed, but Kaol shrugged in good nature.

"Sure," he said.

The Cardassian turned to Kaol instantly, though Bochra had the feeling he was still watching him from the corners of his blue eyes.

"Ah, a man of good instincts and probably better taste. Come in, please, I insist. This heat will melt them."

As they came into the small, dusty room that served as the Cardassian's shop, Bochra remarked, "Don't Cardassians prefer the heat?"

The Cardassian blinked. "We do, but I'm afraid my confections do not."

Kaol looked around the bakery. "Desserts from over a thousand worlds?" he read from a sign. "Oh come on!"

The baker crossed his arms. "Would I lie? Try something." He strode over to the counter, lifting the cover from a silver tray. "How about a Romulan favorite?"

Kaol took one of the osol twists from the tray.

"Haven't we eaten enough already?" Bochra asked, only half-joking. "You'll get sick if you eat another bite!"

Kaol was already eating. "It's good," he said in surprise. "You made this, sir?"

The Cardassian extended his hand. "Merak, and no need for formalities." He turned to Bochra and shook his hand, as well. "Yes, I made it. I have a knack for capturing the subtleties of a world's cuisine."

Bochra was impolitely staring at him. It may have just been the paranoia Tomalak had induced in him, but he did not like or trust the Cardassian. It was strange, since Bochra was usually the last Romulan to be xenophobic, but he intensely disliked this Merak.

_I'm being ridiculous, _Bochra realized. _What is he going to do? Poison two Galae soldiers in the middle of a crowded Romulan outpost city? I shouldn't be so unfair._

He took one of the pastries and bit into it. It certainly tasted authentic. Merak smiled broadly. "Do you like it?"

Bochra said lightly, "It's not bad."

"Ah, thank goodness," Merak laughed in relief. "I haven't been at this outpost for long, I move from trade city to trade city, and it's my first time on a Romulan world. I've been waiting to try these on natives of Romulus for quite a while now."

"What about the traders?"

"Oh, the traders don't have the refined tastes of the Galae soldiers, now, do they?" Merak pointed out. "But if you two fine gentlemen find them acceptable, on the other hand, that means something, doesn't it?"

"It means you're pretty bold to shop our own food to us in one of our own outposts," Bochra said flatly. "How many Romulan chefs are you trying to outsell, exactly?"

Merak chuckled. "Oh, my dear young man, I know I couldn't possibly outsell them. That's why I travel so much. It's a way to test my culinary skills, you see. I stay in one place just long enough to see if I _can _make the local delicacies authentically, and once I've proven that to myself, I move on."

"The wandering baker."

"You make it sound romantic," Merak said, ignoring the scorn in Bochra's tone. "But it's really more of an obsessive compulsion. In a way, I am forced to travel. It's bad enough being a civilian on Cardassia, but one interested only in alien cuisine? I don't think they'll _have _me back at this point!"

"It must be lonely," Kaol said.

"Don't pity me, sir, I'm in plenty of good company at the moment," Merak assured him. "There are a bit of my people selling various things here."

"There are a lot of your people around," Bochra said. He met the Cardassian's empty gaze steadily. "Must be the heat."

Merak smiled, but Bochra saw a flash of something not so innocent. It was gone momentarily, and he wondered if he had imagined it.

"Yes," Merak agreed. "It must be."

Bochra touched Kaol's shoulder. "Come on, Kaol. Let's go find your holosuites and work some of this food off."

Kaol looked from Merak to Bochra, and nodded in awkward agreement. They left the bakery without another word.

_Merak the baker! _the Cardassian thought indignantly, lifting his roundish face. His eyes grew cold as ice. _If only those two pointy-eared whelps knew the truth! Oh, the__y__ may act that high and mighty with Merak the baker, but would they dare be so lackadaisical with Elim Garak, agent of the Obsidian Order? No, __I think not__! And if they __were__, they wouldn't get away with it for very long!_

Garak inhaled, exhaled, and shut his eyes. "Calm down, Garak," he told himself. "One more mission, and you're done with Romulus forever, Tain promised you that. They sent you because they know you're the best one at dealing with these stuck-up people, remember? You should be proud."

Nonetheless, Garak sank into a chair by the counter and sulked. The thin-skinned Romulans might have found Zireka IV's climate unbearably hot, but to him it was moderately comfortable at best. The night brought a steep drop in temperature that left him shivering, and the windstorms were not bracing blasts of highly heated air, but horribly cold winds filled with so much sand it could choke you. He was utterly miserable here, cold, miserable, and alone.

Garak pulled one of the wrapped chocolates from the bowl in the middle of the table, unwrapped it, and ate it. It was his fourth that morning, and though it should be his last, he knew it would not be. He had put on a few pounds, sitting in this shop for the past two months. Tain would not be happy, but then, he never was, was he?

"As long as I succeed, he'll be satisfied," Garak said softly to himself. He reached for another chocolate. "He might even be proud. As long as I succeed. As long as I do what I came here to do."

* * *

"What was that about?" Kaol asked Bochra outside Merak's shop.

"Cardassia and the Romulan Star Empire have been engaged in a cold war for a long time," Bochra explained. "They slither around our worlds, never doing enough to start a real war, but not being quiet, either. They interfere in our politics, they spy on us, they try to steal our intelligence. Riov Tomalak told me that they envy our Empire, and that they seem to almost be tempting us to fight them, just so they can be conquered and share in the power of our Empire."

"Empire envy, eh?" Kaol laughed. "Why, if they cause us all this trouble, don't we simply reach out and swat them back down into place?"

"They aren't worth the effort," Bochra said. "They are inferior to us in every way, politically, and their world is a ruined mess of a planet devoid of resources. They have nothing to offer the Empire. Besides, they're occupying Bajor, and there are rumors that the Federation is just waiting for the chance to step into that conflict. You know how they love to snatch up oppressed worlds. It would not be worth the complications to take over Cardassia."

"You know a lot," Kaol said, impressed. "Or maybe you know too much, if you think a baker is a Cardassian spy!"

They shared a laugh, and Merak was forgotten. For a while they walked, looking into the shop windows, chatting aimlessly.

"Hey, look at that!" Kaol said suddenly, pointing. "A fortune-teller."

He ran up to a building that stood apart from the others due to its bright purple walls. A poster was painted beside the door. Bochra froze, staring at the artwork of an attractive lady.

"Is that a Vulcan?" he asked, gaping. "Federation races aren't allowed here."

"Who cares? She's beautiful," Kaol murmured. "And, anyway, disenfranchised people, or exiled people, are free to be here, whatever race they are, so long as they have a permit."

"She's a Vulcan!"

"Let's go in!" Kaol said fervently. He grabbed Bochra by the arm. "Please? It'll be fun. Come on."

"How is having your mind read like a book fun?"

Bochra did not fight him, though. He was entertained by Kaol's juvenile enthusiasm, and his lack of the usual Romulan xenophobia. He was wide-eyed like a child, yet there was a sharp observational quality to his gaze. He was a rare kind, and very easy to get along with, like a younger sibling. Also, it felt nice not to be the naive kid in the group for a change.

The fortune teller's office was surprisingly simple, given its bold front. The decor was definitely Vulcan, elegantly formed and highly functional, with a few pieces of simple sculptures. The room temperature was set cooler than was normal for Vulcans, however. It was actually comfortable. Bochra breathed the temperate air gratefully.

The woman painted on the poster came out of a smaller room in the back, sweeping aside a sheer white curtain. Kaol had been right, she was certainly beautiful: her face was regal, feline in its symmetry, and she carried her tall, thin frame with grace. Her eyes were accentuated with elaborate jewel-toned makeup and long, thick lashes, her cheeks lightly bronzed to emphasize her perfect cheekbones, and her delicate lips were left pale. Half of her lustrous black hair was intricately piled atop her head, while the rest flowed down to her waist in back, a fringe of bangs covering her forehead. Kaol stopped short, and appeared to stop breathing, when she entered. Bochra thought his eyes might be ready to melt from their sockets.

Bochra also stared, but then he frowned. A sliver of her forehead showed through the bangs, and it bore the distinctive ridges of the Romulan race. "You're not a Vulcan."

The woman looked from Kaol to Bochra. Her aloof demeanor cleared from her stunning face like storm clouds unblocking a dazzling sun, and she smiled.

"Of course I'm not!" she exclaimed merrily. "I try to maintain the illusion for the aliens. They have an obsession with Vulcans that's really quite good for business. But no, I am a Romulan."

Kaol looked disappointed. "But it says you're a psion."

"I am a psion."

Bochra stepped up to the woman. "I've heard about this," he said excitedly. "The Romulan people are descended from the Vulcans. We discouraged the psionic evolution as time went on, but sometimes a Romulan with Vulcan psionic abilities is born, like a throwback."

The woman's eyes widened. "A _throwback_?"

Bochra cringed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean ... It's just what I heard."

"Yes, it's just what we're called on Romulus," the woman said darkly, turning and storming around the counter. "Genetic throwbacks!"

"He didn't mean it, really," Kaol intervened weakly. "Please. We're sorry."

The woman remained guarded, but she did not throw them out. "Well, then ... " She lifted her head. "I am Veral. How may I be of service to you today?"

Bochra, however, could not help himself. "If you're a Romulan psion, why are you here telling fortunes? Why aren't you on Romulus working for the Tal Shiar?"

Kaol blushed. "Please, Ihhei ["Madam"] Veral, ignore him. He's been learning too much from our Riov."

"The Tal Shiar may train us in the pretense of wanting to use our powers, but how long do you really believe a psion can last there without becoming a liability?" Veral asked in exasperation. "Before everyone starts fearing their ability to see through their lies, expose their agendas? Romulus doesn't want truth, and the Tal Shiar want it even less than anyone else."

"Oh."

"And this is why I usually pose as a Vulcan," scowled Veral. She turned to a mirror and fully covered her Romulan forehead with her bangs. "When I saw you two, I thought I could get away with being myself for once, but I see that was a premature assumption. Maybe I should simply have that physical alteration surgery and get rid of my Romulan traits once and for all."

Kaol elbowed Bochra and gave him a disapproving frown. Bochra just shrugged helplessly. Veral turned back to them, but then someone else entered the little establishment. Once again, Veral smiled that blinding smile.

"Vadi ["Uncle"]!" the woman cried joyfully. She ran around the counter and rushed to embrace the visitor. "You're here! You're actually here!"

Bochra and Kaol turned, and then both were struck dumb. Tomalak was awkwardly hugging Veral back, lifting her to the tips of her toes due to his height. After he put her down, he gave her forehead a fatherly kiss.

"Vadia ["Niece"] Veral, how I've missed you," Tomalak said warmly. He glanced at the two wide-eyed young soldiers. "What are you two doing here?"

Kaol started. "We were just looking in. We're leaving, rekkhai."

He tried to tug Bochra, but Bochra waved him off. "I'll meet you at the hotel."

Kaol looked at him as if he were crazy, but made his own escape fast. Veral held her uncle's hand in her own, smiling gently, and then a look of shock flashed over her face. She withdrew her hand. "Oh," she said, looking up at Tomalak. "Oh, I see. Your new lover."

Bochra stammered incoherently in protest.

"Now, now, there are no secrets you can keep from a psion," Tomalak said, amused. "Besides, I trust Veral, I always have."

Bochra eyed her warily, then looked at Tomalak. The woman was obviously important to him, so Bochra decided to make peace with her. Besides, he was starting to fear her.

"I'm sorry for using that term, Ihhei Veral," Bochra apologized. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was just curious, that's all. It's such a rarity to find a Romulan psion."

Veral walked up to him, and it took all his resolve not to step back from her. She took his hand in her own, squeezed it. Her nails were long, painted silver.

"Apparently, this isn't be first time your mouth has gotten you into trouble," Veral said as she sifted through Bochra's mind through her touch. "You aren't cruel, just brash." She glanced back at Tomalak. "I see you're keeping him in line, though."

Bochra snatched his hand away. He could see why Romulan society shunned those with psychic abilities. Veral lowered her eyes apologetically. He could almost hear her apology in his mind, and though he appreciated it, he was disturbed by the invasion.

Tomalak came over and put an arm around Veral protectively. "Would you give us some time alone, Bochra? I'll meet you outside."

Bochra agreed and exited. He was relieved to be out of the psion's presence, and wandered down the street. He leaned against a building corner, looking around the bustling city.

"Hello again."

Bochra looked aside. The Cardassian, Merak, had come up to him, shopping bags under his arms. Bochra managed to give him a polite smile. After dealing with the psion, the Cardassian seemed harmless.

"Was that twist really passable?" Merak asked, looking worried. "Your friend seemed pleased, but I couldn't tell if you were sincere or not."

"They were good," Bochra said. "Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

Bochra ceased leaning back and faced the Cardassian fully. They were about of equal height, though the Cardassian was bulkier. For a moment, they looked at one another wordlessly, trying to read each other. Bochra wished that he was a psion himself, so he could see what that empty stare was hiding.

"Tell me."

Merak hesitated. "Well, you see, it's just that ... I think it might be time I was moving on to the next trading post."

"Why?"

"It ... is getting a bit crowded here, that's all," Merak said. "No offense, sir. It's just that, given where I come from, I don't have a great faith in any military."

"We're only here on shore leave," Bochra said defensively. He gestured to his clothing. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Yes, your lack of your usual ... _unique _uniforms certainly gives that impression initially," Merak said. He hesitated again, looking up and down the street. He moved closer to Bochra, his voice dropping a few decibels. "But you know, your captain gives quite another."

Bochra frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've said too much, forgive me," Merak said hastily. He shouldered his bags and brushed around Bochra. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

Bochra lunged after him, grabbing him by the arm. "You tell me what you mean, Merak," he said forcefully. "Or you really will have a problem with the military."

Merak heaved a sigh, and ushered Bochra along by the shoulder. They returned to his shop, where he set his bags down and locked the door behind them. Bochra noted that the Cardassians really were as paranoid as everyone said.

"Your commander spent his entire morning meeting with the local authorities," Merak explained. "Then, he went to the military base out by the mines. I'm guessing that he didn't tell the troops about his business there, did he?"

Bochra sat down at the table by the counter. _Not only did he not tell the __troop__s, he didn't tell __**me**__._

Merak (AKA Obsidian Order agent Elim Garak) noticed the extra layer of disappointment on Bochara's face, and recognized it instantly. This was the look of an insider that had been left out for the first time. Merak/Garak decided that he would have to pay more attention to this young soldier Bochra.

Merak sat opposite Bochra at the table. He tried not to notice that the youth was quite good-looking, for a Romulan, this close up. He also tried not to take another chocolate treat for himself from the bowl between them.

"I gather that he didn't," Merak observed. "Well, I'm sure he's only doing his duty as a valued member of the Romulan Star Navy, your Galae, as you call it. But, as I am not a Romulan, I'm sure you can understand that I am a little nervous about the sudden increase in activity."

Bochra was quiet, considering this new information. No wonder Tomalak had been in such a hurry to leave him that morning. But why would he lie?

"How did you find this out?" Bochra demanded of Merak. "You say you haven't been here very long, and that you're only interested in proving your culinary talent. So why are you paying such close attention to police and military activity?"

_He is sharp, _Garak thought, staring at the young soldier. _I suppose not all the Romulans are totally hopeless._

"Because I'm a Cardassian," Merak said simply. "Your people are not especially fond of my race."

"Yes, it's funny how spying and assassination attempts will cause suspicion of a race, isn't it?"

Merak was nonplussed. "I don't see what those political intrigues have to do with a simple baker," he said, sounding hurt. "But it's just like it was on Cardassia: I'll be caught up in the middle of it all because I'm too innocent to be innocent. No one ever believes the person who isn't lying."

Bochra thought of his own issues with honesty, and nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. So, you're saying that you're just paranoid?"

"Paranoid' is such a strong word, but yes, that is what I'm saying."

"All right," Bochra allowed, though he was not fully convinced. "But how did you come by this information?"

"I may have only been here for two months, but I make friends quickly." Merak smiled. "It must be my upbeat disposition. It's a very useful trait for a baker."

_Or for a spy, _Bochra thought. _Still, whatever he is, I can use this Cardassian. I'll just have to be careful about it._

"You realize that your attention to what your friends say about the authorities and military could be construed as spying," Bochra told him. "I could have you arrested."

Merak's eyes went round, and he lowered his gaze. He knew Romulans loved submissive terror.

"But I'm on shore leave, and I'm in a good mood." Bochra helped himself to a chocolate, offered Merak half of it. "Besides, I think I can trust a man that can make a good osol twist."

Merak took the candy hesitantly. "Trust to do what, exactly?"

Bochra stood. "To keep his ears open to his friends, and his mouth closed to the other soldiers. Think you can manage that?"

"I think so."

"Good." Bochra took a chocolate from the bowl and pocketed it. "I'll stop by later on ... for some more osol twists."

_He believes that he's using me, _Garak thought as he watched Bochra depart from the shop. _How adorable. _

Garak got to his feet and looked out the front window onto the street. He pressed a button to opaque the window, and locked the door. Now that he was closed for business, he went into the back room, behind the secret panel in the wall to a smaller room, and fetched the specially encrypted Cardassian communication transponder from its hiding place behind all the pantry goods.

Garak typed and sent a progress report, and hid the device away again. Two months, and he had almost nothing to show for it. This mission was going painfully slowly, and he knew that if he did not hurry and get the information the Order sent him for, the 'painful' part would be more than a metaphor. He would have to start pushing things a little, taking a few more chances.

"I hate the Romulans!" Garak exclaimed in frustration. He left the pantry and slid the panel over its door again. "Every day is a tightrope walk with them. Every single day! Why couldn't this just be a nice, clean assassination? I do so love an assassination..."

**05**

"So, you've heard nothing? Seen nothing?"

Veral shook her head. Tomalak sighed, gripping her hand reassuringly. "It's fine, Veral, I didn't expect that you would," he told her. "The Vulcan is a Vulcan, after all. I expect he would have warned any supporters he might have about you. I wouldn't expect anyone with that kind of information to come by here and have their mind laid bare for you."

Veral looked away, saying nothing.

"I thought there may be a chance he would try to recruit you, but I suppose he knows of our blood ties," Tomalak went on. He paced the little office for a moment, thinking. "What about your contacts on Vulcan? What do they say about this?"

"Vulcan has renounced the actions of Spock," Veral told him. "From what I gather, he is acting completely on his own."

"And they can't even control this single citizen of theirs?" sneered Tomalak.

"They have never been able to control him," Veral pointed out. "He left early on to join Starfleet, the first Vulcan to ever do so, and since, he's acted either on the word of Captain James T. Kirk, the human, or on his own. Even if his father were not so ill, I doubt his disapproval would stop him. It may actually encourage him."

"A Vulcan rebel! Ha!" Tomalak scoffed. "If there is anything more annoying than a Vulcan, it's one that believes he still has any kind of passion."

"He is half human."

"And the more delusional for it," Tomalak said. "But, Vulcan claims no responsibility, and so our hands are tied politically. We cannot take them to task for what Spock is doing. But what _is _he doing? What does he want with Romulus?"

"The Vulcans, and Spock, are not violent," Veral said. "I doubt he intends to do the Romulan people any harm."

"There are many kinds of harm," Tomalak said uneasily. "Ways to do much more damage than could ever be done through violence. The Empire is in the grasp of one of its phases of evolution, the people clamor for change. There will not be a more perfect time to try and influence them, and Spock must know this. But influence them in what? Acceptance of our Vulcan roots? Can you imagine the implications of Vulcan gaining a soft power over our young?"

"Soft power?"

"Cultural influence," Tomalak said. He looked out the front window onto the street, watching the passers-by. "No one is old enough to remember anymore, but there was a reason our people abandoned Vulcan so many ages ago. We denounced their worship of cold logic, their global ban on letting passion overrule reason. We eventually gave up development of our genetic telepathic aptitude. We grew Romulus from the ground up, and created all it's history and culture and strength. It is _**ours**_, built on the flames of _**our **_passion. There is no place for Vulcan apathy in our Empire!"

Tomalak sighed, shaking his head. He put a hand on Veral's shoulder and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, vadia. I did not mean to go on that way."

Veral just smiled. "It's just a sign of your passion."

Tomalak chuckled. "So it is. I must go now, but I will return. Please, keep your eyes and ears, and mind, open. This is a critical time for Romulus. Spock must not gain entry to the home world."

"I understand."

"Good girl. Jolan'tru [Romulan greeting and parting expression]."

"Jolan'tru, vadi."

Tomalak left her. The curtain dividing the rooms shifted, and another man came into the office. Veral keyed in her security code to lock up the office for the day, telling the man, "I do not think Vadi Tomalak will be convinced."

Ambassador Spock calmly agreed, "I believe that is a logical assumption."

* * *

Tomalak had left Bochra waiting for almost an hour by the time he left Veral's office. Naturally, the youth was not waiting around on the streets for him. He found him sulking in the bar of the hotel. Tomalak took his time making his way over. Let him sulk, a little ignoring would be good for a lover as demanding as Bochra could be.

Tomalak sat down at the bar next to Bochra and ordered a drink. Bochra ignored him in turn. He was hurt that Tomalak had not told him a word of his business on Zireka IV, and thought he deserved to be ignored for a change.

Tomalak noticed the attitude, and was instantly on guard. A long silence stretched between them, as they were both too stubborn to be the one to speak first. Furthering the awkwardness, they were soon joined by Dralath.

"Enjoying yourself on Zireka IV, kid?" he asked of Bochra. "We missed you at the Holosuites."

Not really paying attention, Bochra said, "Oh, I was ... I was with Kaol. For a while, anyway."

"I know, I saw you two," Dralath said. "That boy can certainly eat, for a city boy. And so can you, apparently. You were at that Cardassian bakery twice."

Tomalak looked at Bochra, who gave no outward sign of his internal panic. He sipped his drink, said, as evenly as possible, "He was too scared of me to charge me for any of his Andorian chocolates. Why wouldn't I go back for more?"

Dralath laughed, though there was a look in his eyes that Bochra did not like. "I'll have to steal some for myself sometime, then."

Bochra finally looked at Tomalak. "What about you, rekkhai? Have you been enjoying Zireka IV?"

"Yes, quite," Tomalak said coolly. "I got to see my niece, and I've had a very productive day."

"Really?" Bochra asked. "I didn't see you in town at all until this evening."

Tomalak's dark eyes narrowed. "The company I keep doesn't walk from one place to another."

"Ah."

The uncomfortable silence returned, and this time, even Dralath did not dare break it. He pretended to see someone he knew come into the bar, and hastily left the two.

"What's the matter with you now?" Tomalak grumbled to Bochra when they were as alone as anyone ever was at a hotel bar. "Did you expect me to hold your hand and go on some juvenile form of date with you? Is that how I should be spending my time here?"

"How _are _you spending your time here?" Bochra asked. "Where were you?"

"That is none of your concern," scowled Tomalak. "And lower your voice."

"Don't you trust me?"

Tomalak sighed, finishing his drink in a few quick tips of the glass. Not caring whether Bochra was finished or not, he took him by the arm and dragged him off the bar stool. "Let's go."

"Hey, I'm not, you can't just-"

"Do you want to make a scene?"

Bochra was quiet. Still, he yanked his arm from Tomalak's grasp, and followed him on his own. Tomalak had to repress the urge to strike him. On the other side of the bar, Dralath watched all this, and frowned contemplatively.

When they were back in the hotel room they were unofficially sharing, Bochra quickly confronted Tomalak.

"Why are we really on Zireka IV?"

Tomalak's anger had waned on the way up. Though annoyed, he had decided that the last thing he wanted to do on this beautiful, warm night was have it out with his lover, just a day after having disciplined him.

"Why can't you ever leave things alone?" he asked the youth wearily. He came over to him, wrapping his arms around the surprised centurion's waist. "You are bright and handsome and I enjoy you ... but why can't you just behave for once?"

Bochra was grateful that Tomalak's famous temper was noticeably absent for the moment, and he draped his arms over the man's shoulders. "I don't like being lied to."

"There is a difference between lying to you and keeping classified information from you," Tomalak said. "You don't have the security clearance to know what I was doing today. Even Dralath doesn't know what I was doing today. This is simply far, far above your level."

Bochra kissed his neck, and Tomalak rolled his eyes. "You won't seduce it out of me, e'lev."

Bochra was nuzzling the man's neck, and he bit his pointed ear. "Are you sure? I could blackmail you. Tell me, or I'll-" Bochra looked around, grinned, and went to the balcony doors. "I'll open these ... " He pressed the button that made the glass transparent. "And I'll tell everyone on Zireka IV that I'm the Riov's boy."

Tomalak laughed, though he was quite rough as he pulled him away from the window controls. He made sure every window was opaque, and locked the door while he was at it. Bochra laughed at his paranoia, bothering him with little kisses and murmurs into his ear.

"Mmmm. We didn't come to Zireka IV just to drop off some cargo and have shore leave, did we?" Bochra asked. His fingers played through the silky short hair on the nape of Tomalak's neck. "What about that cargo ship? Was it really left dead in space with all it's cargo by some Klingon raiders?"

"Of course not," Tomalak admitted wearily. He fell back onto the bed, pulling Bochra down beside him. Lying propped up on an elbow, he stroked Bochra's face, trying to decide how far he was willing to trust him.

Bochra curled up close to him, head resting on his chest. "So, it was a ruse to get the ship to Zireka IV?"

"Yes, it was all set up," Tomalak said. "No Romulan crew was dismembered and eaten by Klingons, as I heard was a popular mealtime discussion the other day. We needed a plausible reason to bring a warship to a trading post."

"Why does a Warbird need to be here?"

"For show, mostly," Tomalak said. He sat up, holding Bochra by the shoulders and meeting his eyes intently. "Listen to me, you remember what I told you last night? The reason I punished you?"

"Ie."

"This is the kind of pillow talk that ends careers, do you understand?" Tomalak said seriously. "If I trust you with this information, and you can't handle it, I swear, Bochra-"

"I want to prove that you can trust me, Tomalak," Bochra told him. He leaned forward and kissed him deeply. "Please?"

Tomalak sighed, kissing the top of his head. "Fine." He pulled the rest of his long legs up onto the bed, sitting against the headboard. "Now be quiet and listen."

Bochra settled against him, completely compliant for once. "Ie."

Tomalak twitched. It was evident that Bochra was turned on by the idea of having inside knowledge, and that greed for importance was worrisome. It was too late to go back now, though. It would have to serve as a test. If Bochra failed, Tomalak really didn't know what.

"About a month ago, intelligence came in regarding Ambassador Spock of Vulcan," Tomalak said. "He had been spotted on colonies very near the Neutral Zone, and then he apparently fell off the radar. It is believed that he has been traveling deeper and deeper into Empire territory since then. It is also believed that his intention is to reach Romulus."

Bochra was trying to drudge up the tiny scraps of information concerning Spock from the very brief course of Intergalactic History taught at school. "Why?"

"Because he cannot legally enter Empire territory without being granted special permission, and, ambassador or not, no one on Romulus would be foolish enough to grant him permission," Tomalak explained. "He is a former Starfleet officer, a Federation associate, and all we have with the Federation is a cease-fire arrangement, not even a treaty. Oh, Spock has been applying for entrance to Romulus for years, citing diplomatic reasons, but we've managed to tie him up in red tape since he first proposed the idea. I suppose that he's gotten tired of waiting, if the rumors hold true."

"But why does he want to go to Romulus?"

"That's what we are trying to figure out," Tomalak said. "The most plausible explanation is that he wishes to reconcile our two worlds, and make both races more aware of our shared roots. What he fails to see is that we are all _too _aware of our history, and that both cultures have spent generations trying to _forget _it."

"But to send a Warbird all the way out here, just to investigate a rumor that Spock is here?"

"The Empire wants to scare him, and if we do catch him violating our territory, they want his incarceration to send a message to the Federation," Tomalak said. "And to Vulcan, I suppose. Zero tolerance at any cost, even if that cost is my valuable time."

"Oh."

"I've spent the entire day meeting with the local authorities, and I even flew out to the military base outside the cities," Tomalak explained. He climbed out of bed and went to find the room service panel. "I even have Veral using her telepathic talents to see if she can glean any information as to his whereabouts. So far, I can't even confirm that Spock is on Zireka IV."

Bochra sat up, stretching his arms. "But if he is here, all he has to do is get aboard any of the hundreds of ships that go to and from Romulus every day."

"Exactly," Tomalak said. "Even with all our warnings, still, it is not impossible that that wily old Vulcan can manage it. This is our last chance to lay hands on him before he manages to reach the home world."

"Would it really be such a catastrophe is he did?" Bochra inquired. "One man?"

"Spock is more than one simple man. And the Federation is insidious." Tomalak keyed in an order to room service on the command panel by the door. "They may denounce his plans, and so may Vulcan, but the moment Spock gains influence on our world, they'll be the first to support him under the table. Before you know it, they'll be trying to swallow us up into the great black hole that is the Federation. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, but a drink would be nice."

Tomalak finished keying in the order, and came back to sit on the edge of the bed. "I know that you don't detest the Federation, Bochra. They saved your life, and they treated you with decency. They let you come back to me." Tomalak rustled a hand through the youth's hair. "But that was not done for you. It was done out of respect for their lofty moral rules and their principals. You would be no more an individual to them than one of theirs would be to us. The same goes for our Empire. We would not be Romulus to them, only another one of so many worlds streamlined into their organization."

Bochra pointed out, "But the Federation worlds still have their identities. Vulcan is still Vulcan, Andor is Andor, even Klingon ... Well, Klingon is a little tamed, but isn't that a good thing?"

"Not for the Klingons," Tomalak said. "Don't you see? The Federation does not think of us as being much more civilized than the Klingons. They turn their noses up when we hate and bicker and conquer, never mind their own nature is hardly any less impure at its core. They would want to 'tame' us as they tamed Klingon. Then what? How could we have any pride in ourselves then?"

"Is total purity really necessary for pride?"

" ... Not for personal pride, no," Tomalak said, thoughtful. "But for an entire world to be proud, it must have a coherent identity. The whole system would collapse otherwise. The Federation must be proud of itself, pulling so many worlds together cohesively, but that won't last. At its very core, the system is too fractured, spread too thinly across too great a distance. Klingon grumbles at its subjugation, Earth has movements that believe the Federation pays too much attention to alien worlds over Earth, Starfleet is divided on what interest to pursue and where, they can't even agree on which planets should be brought in or not! One major, interstellar war, and you'll see how deep the cracks in the foundation of the Federation really are."

Bochra considered this. "So, you don't believe in unification across worlds?"

"No, I don't," Tomalak said firmly. "There is only conquest and subjugation. Anything more polite is nothing but a carefully-crafted lie. I would personally prefer to face a dozen bloodthirsty Klingons than play the power games the Federation engages in. At least with the Klingons, you know where you stand."

"But don't you think we could have peace with the Federation?" Bochra asked. "We don't have to join them, but opening up trade, negotiating something more than this cease-fire, wouldn't that be acceptable?"

"If they would respect that arrangement, yes, even I would concede it would be acceptable," Tomalak said. "But they would never respect it. They would keep trying and trying to draw us under their damned banner, trying to make us a Federation world. They can't accept an equal power standing on its own terms, and that's why we hate each other! That's why we can never, ever even consider letting those cowardly manipulators in!"

There was that temper, and it quieted Bochra's opinions. The Federation was a touchy subject with Tomalak, ever since his two run-ins with the captain of the starship _Enterprise, _Jean-LucPicard. No Romulan liked the Federation, but for Tomalak, the vendetta was personal.

Room service came up, and Tomalak fetched the order. He locked the door once they were gone. He sat himself at the table to eat. Bochra remained on the bed, content with his drink.

"If Spock is here, you'll find him, Riov Tomalak."

Tomalak glanced at him over his food. "Don't patronize me, Bochra."

Bochra blushed. He lay back, precariously drinking from the bottle of liquor. "It's too hot to talk about politics, anyway."

"I will tell you what to think about politics, and don't forget that."

Bochra just laughed. He took a swig from the bottle and sat up, nearly spilling it. "Is that part of being the Riov's boy?"

"Ie," Tomalak said shortly. He eyed Bochra disapprovingly. "And don't make such a mess. Be careful."

"Ie rekkhai." Bochra looked at the bottle, trying to see how strong it was. Combined with all the sugar from the junk food he had had that day, he was getting drunk fast.

Tomalak glanced at him as he carved his food. He recognized the look: a young soldier thrust into the ugly realities of the world, trying to escape. It was fine for the moment, so long as his escapism phase did not last past shore leave.

Bochra came around behind him, trying to massage Tomalak's shoulders through his shirt. Tomalak fussed, but allowed it. He only wished Bochra _was_ the placating, silly boy he was when he was drunk ... although, truthfully, he would not respect him if he was.

"Au'rh hhaes ["You're drunk"]," Tomalak said, swatting at him. "Let me eat."

Bochra laughed, unable to help it. He pulled Tomalak's chair from the table. "Eat later. I'm bored. I haven't seen you all day."

"No, you were too busy eating, apparently."

"That was Kaol." Bochra fell onto Tomalak's lap, smiled at him. "What else was I supposed to do? I had to follow that child around all day, because you were too busy with your top-secret business."

Tomalak laughed heartily, setting down his utensils. "Oh? And you're so much the man now that you can call Kaol a child?"

Bochra lifted his face indignantly. "I've grown up. Haven't I?"

"If you had, you wouldn't need to ask." Tomalak held Bochra in his arms, looking into his large, dark eyes and enjoying the luster of his youth. Honestly, he told him, "You have changed. All we went through on Romulus last time we were docked there matured you. But you're not quite past your youth yet."

Bochra plunked his head down on his shoulder. "When I am, will you still want me?"

Tomalak was caught off guard. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Ta'hrl was not much more than a kid, you've known me since I was a kid, and I'm still not very old," Bochra said. "You've had other young lovers, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have."

Bochra took a swig from the bottle, an expression of childish concentration on his face. His head was spinning, and all he could think of was the time spent on Romulus. Duty and loyalty and love were all confused, and he felt an encroaching sense of unease that he could not identify.

Tomalak could see the insecurity in his eyes, and he held him more tightly. "I told you that we have a life bond. I was serious when I said that. I've never felt for someone so strongly before, not once."

"But you say that now, while I'm still young."

Tomalak laughed, and took the bottle from Bochra's hand. He took a long drink of the beverage. "Do you mean to tell me that _you're _worried that I'll leave you? After all that we've been through to stay together?"

Bochra shrugged. "I didn't even think that you were lying to me, until ... until I realized that I hadn't seen you all day."

"I wasn't lying to you, I was trying to protect confidential information," Tomalak said. "That has nothing to do with us."

Tomalak turned Bochra's face to his own. "Jol-ao au ["I love you"]."

Tomalak brought his lips to Bochra's, tasting the sugar and liquor on his tongue, licking his teeth. Bochra shivered, squirming impossibly close into Tomalak's arms. Tomalak stood, lifting the lanky young man up in his arms. Bochra clung onto him, looking at the floor as if expecting to be dropped upon it.

"After Ta'hrl, after S'vrian, after everyone that has betrayed me, I entrusted you with information I was supposed to die protecting," Tomalak said, cuddling the man as if he were still the child he had known since he was born. "Why did I do that for you? Hm? Because I don't trust or love you?"

Bochra touched a hand to his ridged forehead, and looked around for the bottle. Tomalak gave him a sip from it. He knew it was bad to encourage the kid, but it was shore leave, and he was very cute when he was intoxicated.

"What about you?" Tomalak asked, lying him down and climbing over him. "Can I trust you? Hm? Or do you intend to go gallivanting around Zireka IV with Vriha, or maybe Kaol?"

"You're the one that told me to go out," Bochra said, a little mischievously. "To avoid suspicion. And, since when are we exclusive?"

Tomalak kissed him, sat him up to remove his tunic. "Since I don't want to share you."

Bochra looked at him in surprise. "When did you decide this?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while. Since that fiasco with Jarok's daughter," Tomalak said. He tossed Bochra's shirt aside and removed his own. "It may be selfish and it may be unreasonable, but I don't give a damn anymore. I want you to be mine, and only mine."

Bochra crossed his arms. "But what about you? You're still married."

"S'vrian and I are married in name only, and if you want, I will swear that to you right here and now," Tomalak told him. He took the youth's fairer, smoother hand in his own and caressed it thoughtfully. "So long as you swear to me that you won't lie with another while we're together."

Bochra met his eyes, hesitated. Tomalak felt a stab in his chest, and the pain riled his temper. It was unfair of him, so he restrained his anger, though just barely.

"At least think about it."

"No, I didn't mean- I just- I'll promise, I will, I-"

"Don't promise me anything just to placate me!" Tomalak snapped. "Think about it, that's all I ask."

Bochra meekly said. "Ie rekkhai."

Tomalak gave him a taciturn look, and then rolled him onto his stomach. Bochra made a mental note to be especially compliant that night. Though, he really could not fathom what he had done to exasperate his moody lover in the first place.

**06**

Tomalak went to get up early the next morning, but Bochra slung an arm over him and blearily demanded that he stay in bed. Tomalak kissed his shoulder, and let the early dawn wash over him. He did not fall back asleep, but rested contentedly with the young man's warm presence draped over him.

By sunrise, Tomalak was too alert to lie in any longer. Bochra was starting to wake up, and he pawed at Tomalak, clamoring for him to stay.

"I'm not going to spend the entire day in bed, and neither are you." Tomalak gently pried Bochra's limbs off of himself, sat up. "Come on. Get up."

Bochra buried his face in the pillow, squealing out a yawn in protest. "Noooo. It's shore leave, and my head hurts, and I'm still tired."

"Shore leave is no excuse for laziness, your hangover is your own fault, and you'll wake up once you're on your feet. Come on."

Tomalak kissed him between the shoulder blades as he removed the pillow from Bochra's head. Bochra propped himself up on his elbows, shooting an accusatory frown at Tomalak. Tomalak smoothed his hair with his hands, and kissed him. Bochra's returned kiss was sloppy and broke off into another yawn. Tomalak chuckled, giving his bottom a hefty smack.

"Up."

Bochra climbed out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. Tomalak set clothing out for both of them, and waited until Bochra had showered before taking his own morning ritual; he did not dare set foot into the shower with Bochra, knowing it would end up wasting what was left of the morning.

By the time he was out, Bochra was dressed. "I ordered food up. Will you eat with me, or do you have confidential business to get to?"

Tomalak assured him, "I have the morning, at least."

"Good. I missed you yesterday." Bochra brushed his clipped, lank hair briefly. "Besides, you know me, I get into trouble when I'm not with you."

Tomalak snorted in amusement, nodding. "You've been that way since you were a child. I don't know how you would have ended up without me."

"I would have turned out all right," Bochra said defensively. He smiled crookedly. "Lonely. But all right."

The door chimed, and Tomalak brought in the food cart. He set the plates out, and they sat to eat together at the small table.

"I want to go to a holosuite with you."

Tomalak nearly choked on his food. "What!"

"If anyone even sees us, they won't think anything of it," Bochra said. "Everyone knows I'm a family friend, and that I take Tenalri with you. We could even have a group lesson later on to quiet any suspicions. But I want to meet you in a holosuite tonight, just us."

Emphatically, Tomalak replied, "No!"

Bochra fed him a bite with his own fork. "Please?"

"Don't play with your food," grumbled Tomalak, though he accepted the food. "And _no_, I would not be caught dead in a holosuite, not even for you."

Bochra changed tactics, smiling with that glint of mischief in his eyes again. "Yes you will. You'll do it for me."

"You must still be drunk," Tomalak scoffed.

Bochra just grinned, saying nothing. Tomalak was at a loss for once, and his face actually colored. He glowered down at his food, slicing and stabbing it with added viciousness.

"You'll come, because you're curious," Bochra said. "You only enjoy pretending not to be interested, so I can fall into the trap of convincing you. In the end, you'll humor me, because you aren't as uptight as you pretend to be."

"Uptight, am I?"

"I said you only pretend to be," Bochra said hastily. "But you can appreciate a little adventure. Why else would you keep me around?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Tomalak said. "Fine. I admit, you amuse me, e'lev. I would follow you into a Klingon colony unarmed, if I felt I had to. But not into a holosuite!"

Bochra watched him.

"What could be so damned important that you have to show me in a holosuite, anyway?"

"Ah ha! You _are _curious!"

Tomalak set down his utensils and sighed, just staring at the man for a moment. Bochra smiled and went on eating.

"So, this is what it's like."

Bochra glanced at him. "What what is like?"

"Being with you- _just _being with you," Tomalak explained. He resumed his meal. "No complications. We're far from our families, out of the watchful gaze of our fellow soldiers. No politics or rules or fear, just us."

"I know, it's nice," Bochra said happily. "Isn't it?"

Tomalak smiled, a completely genuine, loving smile. "It is. Even if you will in all likelihood drive me insane."

"Only in a good way."

"We'll see."

The communication screen chimed. Tomalak looked at it in alarm. The computer informed him that he had an incoming communication. Tomalak rushed to his feet, stood Bochra up, shoved his plate into his hands, and dragged him over to the closet. He shut the stunned youth inside, and then told the computer to put the call on screen.

Bochra made a small, insulted sound, but did not leave the closet. He leaned against the wall, and finished his breakfast in the small space. He strained, but could not hear any of the conversation.

Tomalak fetched him once the viewscreen was off. Bochra muttered, "That was pleasant."

"Sorry, e'lev, but you know how it must be," Tomalak said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Or would you want the Tal Shiar to become aware of our relationship?"

"That was the Tal Shiar?" Bochra asked, impressed. "What did they want?"

"To update me regarding the situation with Ambassador Spock," Tomalak said. There was no point in hiding anything from Bochra at this point, and he was honestly grateful to have someone to plot with. "Also, there has been some activity on Zireka IV lately, possibly related to the Spock rumors. Cardassian activity."

Bochra put his empty plate into the replicator, and poured himself more juice. "Cardassian? What would their interest in the Spock situation be?"

"Those damned Cardassians have an interest in all our situations," scowled Tomalak. "My best guess is that they believe they can use Spock, if they can get to him before we do. Those idiots don't even know how they'll use him, but I'm sure they'll figure something out, if they find him."

Tomalak picked up his PADD and tapped its screen a few times. "Take a look at this. Do any of these people look familiar? Cardassian operatives and associates."

Bochra clicked through the pictures, but did not recognize any of the ridged and scaled faces. He was going to return the PADD, but his instincts made him click on the 'Suspected' option. With a victorious smile, he turned the screen to Tomalak and tapped it. "Him. That's the Cardassian baker from that shop Kaol and I ate at."

Tomalak looked over the profile. "Elim Garak. Suspected to be a veteran Cardassian agent, possibly high in the ranks of the Obsidian Order. He was working on Romulus at the Cardassian Embassy, supposedly as a gardener, during a volatile political time, and it was believed he had a hand in an assassination. We've been wanting to lay hands on him for a while, but if he is an agent, he's a good one. No proof, airtight alibis, all of it." Tomalak looked at Bocha thoughtfully. "You say you met him?"

"Ie."

Tomalak laughed. "Look at you. You're just waiting for me to ask you." Tomalak rubbed the man's shoulder affectionately. "You are a bloodthirsty, ambitious thing, aren't you?"

"So, ask me."

Tomalak tossed the PADD onto a table, sat down on the edge of the bed. Bochra sat beside him, and he took him by the shoulders.

"This isn't a game, and it isn't a normal military mission," Tomalak said. "The reason I was selected to even be involved is because I have been trusted with sensitive situations before, and I have never let the Tal Shiar down. Also, the fact that my wife is an agent."

Bochra could not keep the irritated twitch from the corner of his mouth. He still could not stand S'vrian.

"I have experience, I am a Riov, and I made an active choice to take part in this mess," Tomalak said. "I know you must be sick of hearing how young you are, but in this case, I have to bring it up. You don't have the experience to be involved in this. Even having the information you have puts you in danger, that is why I tried to keep it from you."

"I'm not asking to join this hunt for Spock going on, but I already know this Garak spy," Bocha said. "What could be the harm of frequenting his shop a little, pretending he's using me while I use him?"

"The harm is in the fact that Garak is a professional spy, and you aren't," Tomalak pointed out. "I hate to bring up another point you must be sick of, but after Galorndon Core, you couldn't even bring yourself to lie on a report. What makes you think you can lie well enough to fool an Obsidian Order agent?"

"The Cardassians are arrogant, and this man was obviously reaching, trying to get information, get an in with me," Bochra said. "He ... He was the one that told me you had been unseen yesterday. He even knew you had flown out to the base."

"WHAT!" Tomalak jumped to his feet, pacing furiously. "That sneaky bastard. How dare he keep such close eyes on me."

"So let me be your eyes on him."

Tomalak looked down at him, half hopeful and half doubtful. Bochra stood.

"You can't keep me out of danger forever."

Tomalak shut his eyes, bowing his head, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "You sound ... Heh. You sound just like your father."

Bochra raised his eyebrows. "Really? I can't exactly picture my father ... "

Tomalak's face took on a stern expression. He was always very protective of his old friend, Bochra's father Gavik. "Whole and young and ambitious? Don't be a brat."

Bochra stared at the floor.

"Your father would have gone very far, if not for ... his accident." Tomalak sat comfortably in an over-sized chair, fingers pressed lightly together. "I never tried to protect him, but he always tried to keep me out of danger. Can you imagine that?"

Bochra drew a large footstool up before Tomalak's chair and sat facing him. "Is that what happened? Why he was paralyzed?"

"Yes, protecting me," Tomalak said. "You see why I'm overprotective with those I love? You're not the only one, either. I was known as quite the control freak while I was raising Narak. It's a miracle he turned out as well as he has."

"No. No, it's more than that." Bochra took Tomalak's hands in his own. "You're terrified of losing people you love. You stopped my father from perfectly respectable suicide. You almost went to war with the Federation over me. You're trying to hold me back, away from danger, right now. Why?"

Tomalak drew his hands out of Bochra's. "It's nothing. Never mind."

"Tomalak, tell me."

"Leave it alone, Bochra."

Tomalak stood and paced away from him. Bochra watched him, hurt.

"I've never kept anything from you," he said softly. "You've seen me ... through everything. You've seen me completely broken, sometimes broken by your own hand."

Tomalak was quiet, his face betraying nothing. When he put his guards up, he looked almost Vulcan himself, though Bochra would never note this out loud.

Bochra stood, coming up in front of him. He looked up the number of inches Tomalak stood taller than him.

"The night before last, when you told me about Ta'hrl, _that _was nice," Bochra said. "You can come with me to a holosuite or not. You don't even have to let me help you with your agenda here. All I really want ... is you."

Bochra kissed him sweetly, and then rested his head on Tomalak's neck.

"Don't shut me out. Not now."

"I'll go with you to the holosuite."

"What?"

Tomalak smiled, uncharacteristically awkward. "I'll go with you. Tonight. We can have our ridiculous holosuite date, if you really want to waste our time so shamefully."

Bochra considered. "And will you let me be useful with the Spock assignment?"

Tomalak conceded, "Fine."

"I still want to talk," Bochra said. "Really talk."

"And we will. We will," Tomalak assured him. "But I've given you all you want, so let it go for now, hm? It's shore leave, after all."

"Why is it that you can always get out of these things?" Bochra complained. "If you want something out of me, you get it, but I can't even get a simple explanation?"

"Nothing about my reasons for protecting you so fiercely is simple," Tomalak said. "I just need a little time."

"Fine," Bochra relented. "But I will unravel the mysteries of Riov Tomalak sooner or later."

Tomalak gave him a look. "I have no doubt. Come here."

Tomalak pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Bochra gave the corner of his mouth a small kiss when he pulled out of it.

"I have to go," Tomalak said. "People will notice our absence if we stay in any longer. Use the transport to get to your own room and exit from there this time. We've been too careless about coming in here together."

"I haven't even seen my room yet," Bochra mused. "Will I see you at lunch? Dinner?"

Tomalak shoved the youth's PADD into his hands. "I'll let you know."

Bochra pocketed the device. "All right." He sighed. "Now what?"

"You're a bit co-dependent, aren't you?"

"I grew up an outsider," Bochra shrugged. "My House was in between, not poor and not rich, but a joke because of my crippled father. I didn't have any real friends, just a few of the poor kids that were pathetic enough to envy me. I imitated you, did you know that? I played at being independent, a leader. The only reason I wasn't decimated for it was that I was pretty good at it."

Tomalak glanced at the clock panel above the bed. It was getting late, but he could spare a few moments. Bochra was apparently in the mood for heavy conversation. He watched the young man pace, frowning with worry too deep for his years.

_He's everything we Romulans have fought to be, _Tomalak realized. _When did Romulus become so controlled and secretive? Are we finally succumbing to our Vulcan ancestry? Are the Tal Shiar winding us so tightly that we are afraid to feel in public? __Is this all that comes of our passion: whispers exchanged by secret lovers hidden away from the rest of their people?_

"But no one ever knew me, not really," Bochra said. "I was too busy being defensive. Except with you. There _was _no defending myself from you."

Tomalak laughed. "And that was a good thing?"

"You forced me into honesty," Bochra said. "You were the closest thing I had to both a parent and a friend. I suppose at some point, I became ... too attached to you."

Tomalak stopped Bochra's pacing by reaching out and pulling him over by the arm. "It's fine. You hide it well. No one on the ship suspects, not even Dralath. They think we're like family. And you do lead well."

"When I get the chance!" Bochra exclaimed. He grinned up at Tomalak. "I'm not the only clingy one between us, after all, am I?"

Tomalak pushed his face away playfully. "All those in command of a ship are protective by nature. The best ones, anyway."

"That's an excuse." Bochra followed him. He slung his arms over Tomalak's shoulders, leaning over one. "Why can't you just admit it?"

Tomalak tried to walk away, but Bochra walked with him, hanging over him in that cloying way. He kissed his cheek. "You're blushing."

"I'm flushed with annoyance," Tomalak said, though he smiled as he said it. "I really have to go. You just stay here-" He swept Bochra aside by both shoulders. "-and behave yourself. Can you do that for one single day?"

"Of course."

Tomalak went to move away, but hesitated. The confident words struck a doubtful cord within him, and he frowned, eying the youth, one hand still on Bochra's shoulder. "I mean it," he said sternly. "If you spend any time around that Cardassian spy, be careful. Guard your every word. Understand?"

"I may not be Tal Shiar, but I know how to spy on someone."

"Well good for you," Tomalak said dryly in response to the youth's haughty declaration. He tousled his hair. "Be good. I'll see you later. Jolan'tru."

"Jolan'tru."

Bochra sighed when Tomalak was gone, running his fingers over his palm where he had briefly gripped the man's hand. It was true, he was codependent, he realized. Was love like this for everyone? Did it make them feel so needy? It was both a hassle and a blessing, somehow.

Not one for deep introspection, Bochra shook the thoughts away. He got himself together, looked in the mirror one more time, and then left the suite.

* * *

It was a blazingly hot day, which brought most of the Cardassians out in front of their shops or apartments to bask in the sunlight. Most other species shut themselves inside their homes and made use of their environmental control systems. Bochra met with Kaol in the hotel lobby, and was informed that Kaol, Dralath, and Vriha were going to spend the day with a battle program in a holosuite. Bochra, having nothing else to do, agreed to join the small group.

There were many places with holosuites in the city of Jhimm, but the best ones, Vriha informed them, were owned by a Ferengi named Omog. He also ran the best casino on Zireka IV, 'The Star's Jewel', which obviously was named to please the citizens of the Romulan Star Empire. The group headed there, as Vriha pointed out other places in the city she had been to during one of her previous visits. The woman had warmed to the place she had berated prior to landing, and was in a good mood. Kaol hung onto her every word, staring at her shapely figure beneath the thin white loose tunic dress that she wore. Bochra noticed Dralath sneaking a few glances over her body, as well. He felt a little left out and strange, but could not feign any attraction to his fellow khre'Arrain. She, however, did take a few looks at him. He wondered if she would have the same spark in her lovely dark eyes if she was aware of the ways he used the body she was eying.

Omog was a shrewd, overly congenial Ferengi, quite a few pounds heavier than their norm. Given that he spent all his time inside his establishment, he was able to wear rich fabrics even during a heat wave like this one. Somehow, he could tell Bochra's group were military, and he welcomed them exuberantly. They managed to haggle a discount on the holosuite rental.

"There are so many of them," Kaol marveled as they went through the program chips. "I could spend all my time and money in this place."

Dralath was looking into the casino area, which was doing slow business given the early hour. He raised his eyebrows as a beautiful Romulan Dabo girl passed by and gave him a wink. "So could I."

"Huh. Ferengi and their Dabo girls," scoffed Vriha, though not with real venom. "Such a backwards culture to objectify women. It would be much more intelligent to objectify men, as well."

Kaol looked surprised. Dralath gave his hearty laugh and clapped Vriha on the shoulder. Vriha grinned, though her eyes flitted over to Bochra. Bochra pretended to be studying one of the program chips intently.

"Dabo _men_?" Omog, who had lingered nearby, asked. He gave an unsteady laugh. "I'll, er, keep that in mind, Ihhei."

Vriha waved a hand dismissively in the Ferengi's general direction, knowing he did not mean it. Ferengi would never understand or appreciate the idea of women being equal to men: something even the humans comprehended. With Romulans, both genders served their Empire equally, and behaved in very similar ways. A woman could certainly be branded a whore, but an overly promiscuous and unfaithful man would be branded with the very same term.

"This one seems promising," Dralath said, showing them all one of the program chips. "Why not?"

"That is a very difficult battle simulator, even on its easiest setting," Omog said. "Are you sure you don't want to rent separate holosuites? I'll give you a great rate!"

"No, not today," Vriha said without looking down at the Ferengi. "We can certainly handle this one. We'll be taking it for our two hours."

"What a strong female you are, Ihhei!" Omog pretended to gush, though he was, in fact, horrified by the way she took charge so arrogantly. "Yes, the 'suite is all yours. Have fun! Have fun!"

On the way up in the lift, Vriha said, "Smarmy little cretins, aren't they?"

Kaol snickered, "I think you freaked him out."

Vriha smiled in satisfaction. "I always take the lead when Ferengi are around. It drives them absolutely wild."

"Well-played, Vriha," Dralath told her.

"Khnai'ra ["Thank you" between equals, informal term]."

The battle program proved to be grueling. Dralath and Vriha, martial artists since childhood, enjoyed it immensely. Kaol resorted to disruptor pistol practice, and Bochra kept his battles on an easy setting.

"Vriha, you know how to use a Bat'lath?" Dralath shouted over to her in the middle of a grapple with a Klingon hologram.

"Ie," Vriha replied. "I figure-" She paused to break out of a weapon lock with her Klingon opponent. "-that if we ever run into these filthy Klivam, and a pistol is not enough, then-" She swung under a swipe and came up with the Bat'lath to pierce beneath the Klingon's chin. "-I should at least have a chance at beating them with their own weapon."

"That's actually a good idea," Dralath said. "They would never expect a Romulan to know how to use one of their own precious weapons, and you could pick one up from any of their dead on the field."

"Exactly."

Dralath did away with his opponent using a long-blade Romulan dagger. He wiped sweat from his palms on his pants and came up to Vriha. "Would you teach me sometime?"

"Certainly. Maybe if we can get a few hours in here tomorrow."

Kaol looked heartbroken. Bochra distracted him by giving him shooting pointers. They fell into target practice together for a time.

"I don't know any martial art," Kaol said despondently. "I was always studying so hard in school that I never got around to taking any classes or anything."

"If you shoot well enough, you'll never need to resort to physical confrontation," Bochra assured him. "Dralath is from the country, and they value the rougher styles. Vriha comes from a long line of fighters. Most soldiers are not that well-trained."

"But the best ones always are."

Bochra glanced at him. "Do you want to be one of the best ones?"

Kaol shrugged, and had to re-aim for the gesture. "I suppose I should try to be. But really, I still only want to be an exobiologist."

"You could always request a position aboard a science vessel," Bochra pointed out. "Even if you're only there to guard the scientists, you'll be learning alongside them."

"That's a good idea," Kaol said brightly. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Think about it."

A wave of flying targets, bat-liked creatures, distracted them for some minutes.

"Taibak, the previous HS of Tomalak's ship, was a scientist," Bochra said thoughtfully. "I knew him … a little." He paused briefly, recalling the aloof man's hands exploring his body, his tongue tasting him curiously. "He was half-Vulcan."

"Do you think Vulcans are better scientists than we are?"

Bochra shrugged. "I think if it's all they live for, they must be, but that isn't a sacrifice I would be willing to make."

Kaol opened his mouth to agree, but could not bring himself to. Instead, he continued firing at the targets. Bochra smiled, once more reminded of his own propensity to admire certain traits of other species, un-Romulan as that was.

By the end of the first hour, Kaol and Bochra were exhausted. They quit the session early, leaving Vriha and Dralath to their mirthful simulated combat. They left the casino, and took their lunch at a Romulan restaurant next door to it.

"How do they _do_ it?" Kaol said, still flushed from the action. "You think they'll really fight for the full two hours?"

"I think they will," Bochra said. "They really love fighting."

"Don't you? I mean, you are taking Tenalri lessons from Riov Tomalak."

"Uh, yes, yes, of course I do," Bochra said quickly. "Well, I do enjoy it, but … Not so much as those two, I guess."

"Do you only take the lessons for Tomalak's sake?"

"What do you mean?"

"He is your old family friend," Kaol said. "They say he almost raised you, after your father's accident. It's natural that you would want to please him."

"I … suppose I would do whatever Tomalak told me to do," Bochra said, frowning into his food. "But I do enjoy learning to fight. Just not with Klingons."

"Ha, well, I can understand that!"

They wolfed down their food without talking after the brief exchange, famished from the holosuite. As they were finishing their second helpings, a commotion at the back of the room caught their attention.

"Is that Merak?"

Merak was being roughly hustled out of the kitchens in back. The Romulan chef was cursing at him in his language bitterly. Merak was waving his hands in defense, trying to placate him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said humbly. "I only wanted to see the secret of your wonderful dessert melts—I didn't mean any harm! I won't do it again, I swear!"

The chef scowled, and returned to the kitchens. Merak slowly sauntered away from the back. He spotted Bochra and Kaol, and came by their table. Kaol offered him a seat, and he sat. Bochra bristled at Kaol's naiveness; it was improper for Romulans to sit with aliens unless for business purposes.

"You know, the one thing that I find is alike on any world you go to, is that chefs always have horrid tempers," Merak said.

"And bakers don't?" Bochra asked.

The Cardassian blinked. "Why, no. Bakers are the most jovial culinary wizards there are. Always. Every single time."

_The jovial baking spy, _Bochra thought. _Right._

"I remember a Klingon chef on Talieth III nearly cut me to pieces for even suggesting I watch him prepare … oh, some dish," Merak continued. "Needless to say, I never learned much about Klingon cuisine. Which really doesn't seem to matter much, given that they have no dessert any other species would find edible."

"I've heard they make spreads from the brains of their enemies," Kaol said. "I can't see that being very popular among civilized species."

"No, neither can I!" agreed Merak.

"Talieth III is a rather obscure colony to travel to for cuisine," Bochra remarked.

Merak met his eyes, did not like the concrete suspicion in them. He grinned, but his eyes remained cool. "I happened to be passing by."

"Ah." Bochra took a sip of his water. "Have you ever passed by any Vulcan colonies? Do you know anything of _their_ cuisine?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," Merak said evenly. "Unfortunately, they don't really indulge in desserts or pastries anymore. Enjoying your nourishment is too illogical an idea for them, apparently. You know Vulcans."

"I've heard of them. I don't know any personally." Bochra held the man's pale blue eyes. "Do you?"

Kaol caught that something more than cuisine was being discussed between the two, but he could not fathom what. A bit anxious from the tension, he swirled his fork in the remnants of his meal.

"I have come across some Vulcans during my travels, yes," Merak said slowly. "Dreadfully dull company, in general."

"Hm."

Kaol excused himself from the table to use the restroom. Merak leaned over the table, and Bochra did likewise. Their profiles were close, tense.

"What exactly are you trying to imply, ihhai ["Sir", non-military term]?" Merak asked.

"What exactly are you trying to hide, Elim Garak?"

Garak sat back in his chair, staring over the table at Bochra with wider eyes than usual. _**How** did this brat figure me out? There is no way that a boy-man slightly better than a foot soldier was able to place **me**! Who is giving him information? Is it that captain, Tomalak? Was that why he looked so hurt the other day to find out that Tomalak had covered his tracks? Are they … **What **are they?_

Garak chewed over his thoughts for a while. Finally, he said, "You're Tomalak's lover."

Bochra kept his poker face, but his ears turned red. "That is quite a bold thing to accuse a ranking member of the Galae of, Cardassian."

"Do you deny it?"

Bochra sat up straighter. "I do not need to deny anything to _you_."

"Nor do I need to tell _you_ anything."

The veiled insinuations were gone, replaced by cold bargaining. Bochra considered the situation, trying to think of a way to play his hand without scaring Garak off. At the same time, Garak desperately searched his complicated brain for a method to keep his cover from being blown.

Kaol returned to the table, but upon seeing their faces, stood back up. "Um, I really should go back to my room and shower. Um, I'll see you later, Bochra?"

Keeping his eyes on Garak, Bochra replied, "Ie. Later."

Garak and Bochra waited until Kaol had left the restaurant.

"When you started talking about Vulcans, I assume you were clumsily attempting to extract whether I have met Ambassador Spock here on Zireka IV?" Garak inquired.

"Have you?"

"What is your interest in Spock?" Garak shot back. When Bochra went to protest, he raised a hand. "Ah. Now, I'm sure that if you intended to arrest me, you would have done it by now. The fact that you haven't leads me to believe that you have interests outside those of the Galae. Am I correct?"

Bochra crossed his arms. "You may be."

"Which means that you need information. From me, from anyone that knows the whereabouts of Spock."

"I might."

"Then, let us draw a cease-fire, you Romulans are good at those," Garak said. "A question for a question. You ask me, I ask you. Fair?"

"Fair enough."

Garak had to admit that the young soldier had a strong backbone. He barely flinched when his scandalous affair was outed, and he held his conviction with a steely coldness. _I underestimated him, _Garak noted to himself. _He is an interesting one._

"I'll go first," Bochra said. "It's a Romulan colony, so I'll go first."

Garak hid his annoyance beneath a smile. "Of course."

"Do you know where Spock is?"

"Mmmm. I do." Garak waved a hand before Bochra could question further. "Ah ah ah! A question for a question, remember? It's my turn. Are you Tomalak's lover?"

Bochra gritted his teeth, hissed out a bitter "yes". Then, "All right, my turn. Where is Spock?"

"I'm sorry, I cannot answer that."

"You said-"

"If I get to wave a question, you get to, as well."

Bochra pounded a fist on the table. "You didn't say that at the beginning!"

"Didn't I? Well, you're the one that agreed to something without hearing all the terms."

"You're making this up as you go along!"

"Aren't you doing the same?"

Bochra scowled darkly. _Slippery lying bastard Cardassian! I can tolerate aliens, but this one!_

"Spock is on Zireka IV, I can confirm that, and technically, I am answering your question," Garak compromised. "Now, what is your interest in Spock?"

Bochra drew a breath. It was time to play his bluff.

"I believe in what Spock is doing," he said. "I wish to aid him in infiltrating Romulus."

Garak looked surprised. "Oh. I see. … Even if this sentiment goes against the wishes of your lover and commander? Against your entire Empire?"

"Tomalak never has to know," Bochra explained. "Neither does the Empire, as it would mean my life if they ever found out. That was two additional questions, by the way."

"Oh!"

"Now, what is _your_ interest, and Cardassia's interest, in Spock?"

"We also wish to aid his infiltration of Romulus, albeit for different reasons."

Bochra considered this, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"You believe that Spock's influence will soften Romulus, don't you?" Bochra said. Before Garak protested, he waved a hand impatiently. "It was a rhetorical question. I know the answer. Cardassia believes that Spock's plans for unification will mean a kinder, gentler Romulus, one that Cardassia may be able to ally more fully with. Cardassia has also stolen much of Romulan technology over the years, and if Romulus gained access to Vulcan technology, Cardassia believes it would be able to steal that, as well. I'm sure there are a million other reasons for Cardassia to hope that Romulus and Vulcan ally, but I think those are the primary ones."

Garak narrowed his eyes. "You are quite astute. Especially for a traitor to his own Empire."

"I am not a traitor to my Empire!" snapped Bochra. "Everything I do, I do for the good of the Empire. I live my life for the Empire. I'll _die _for the Empire."

"And Spock assists your precious Empire in what way?"

Bochra lifted his face defiantly. "I believe that an alliance with Vulcan would lead to peace with the Federation. With their support, and access to Vulcan technological advances, Romulus could enter a new golden age. Our Empire would be stronger than ever."

"Interesting!" Garak said. "So. I wish to deliver Spock to Romulus to allegedly weaken it, and you wish to deliver him so he can allegedly strengthen it."

"Spock is a random element, neither of us can know how he will affect Romulus," Bochra said. "We are both gambling on the outcome being beneficial to our interests. Still, we share the goal in the interim."

"It would appear so," Garak nodded. "Do you propose an alliance?"

"That is far too generous a term," Bochra said. "But we can make a deal to help Spock together."

"To help Spock get off-world, surely," Garak said. "But after he is gone, what then?"

"You mean, will I expose you?" Bochra said flatly. " … If we are successful in secretly aiding Spock to Romulus, I would be willing to let you have a head start on your own escape."

"How generous," Garak said cynically.

"I won't give my word for any more protection than that," Bochra said. "If I did, you would know that I would be lying. Isn't a lesser offer that is genuine better than a greater offer that is false?"

"You have a point," Garak said. "Hmm. I suppose, I hardly have a choice, anyway. One word from you in this place, and I'll be in prison before the next meal is cooked."

"Precisely."

Garak extended his hand. "Then, you have yourself a deal."

Bochra shook his hand. Though he had seemed cool throughout, Garak felt his pulse racing through his skin. Bochra released his hand quickly.

"A deal," Bochra said shortly, standing. "Well?"

Garak got to his feet. "Well what?"

"Take me to see Ambassador Spock."

A bit sarcastically, Garak said, in good Romulan, "Ie, ihhai."

* * *

Veral's fortune-telling shop was filled with delicate music quivering fragilely through the air. Notes plucked from quivering strings wafted out to the street, past the 'Closed' sign, through the blinds-covered windows. No one on the busy street took notice. Few could barely even hear it, and even fewer could recognize the strains being played on the Vulcan lute.

In the storage room behind the front of the shop, Veral's slender hands played at the instrument. Spock was listening as he read the latest news on his PADD. His face showed no expression, but in truth, the music brought a wash of memories and emotions to him. Each note touched on a different memory, and the whole song meshed his mind into a mosaic of recollections. He had lived a long time. By Vulcan standards, not exceptionally long, but he had lived among humans, had judged his own life against their briefer existences. Thus, even being middle-aged by his father's species' guidelines, he felt the weight of a life extending far past that of his friends. It was a burden that may have crushed him, he believed, if he were fully human.

_Of course, if I were human, the point would be moot, _Spock mused. _I would not have to face this feeling at all. I would have died, or I would be dying soon. I would not have so many years of the future ahead of me. I would be complacent in the expectation of joining my friends in death soon._

Spock did not want to die, as such a wish would be the height of illogic. Still, he could not help wonder sometimes. He wondered what a total life ensconced in Starfleet may have been like, briefer though it may have been. A waste, he was sure, as all wasted time is nothing more. But would it have been a more … appealing waste?

In the methodical way of a Vulcan , he probed his own emotions. Was his burning desire to reconcile Vulcan and Romulus truly altruistic? Or was he trying to satisfy a deeper, more personal need? Was he, in fact, trying to justify his extended life by finding some greater cause to fight for? Was his human blood making him a bit selfish?

Spock forced the doubts away. He was doing good work, fighting for a good cause that he believed in, and to question his own motives for it was pointless. He could quell his doubts with the painstaking rationale behind his plans for Romulus, and that was enough.

The music stopped. Spock looked over at Veral, who was listening. She stood, and swept out of the room. Spock took his PADD and used it to trigger a hidden force field door in the very back of the storage room. He went inside to the place he had been spending most of his time on Zireka IV in: a windowless eight-by-eight foot room with a cot, a small desk and chair, and an adjacent half-bathroom. Fortunately, Vulcans are logical enough to have no problem with their surroundings unless they were hazardous.

In the waiting and reception room of the shop, Veral stopped cold in her tracks. "Garak- _What_?" Her eyes flitted to her second guest. "And … _you_? Bochra?"

"Veral?" Bochra asked in shock. He looked at Garak. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Calm down, both of you, we're all on the same side," Garak said patiently. _Romulans are so paranoid, even with each other. It's pathetic, _he thought. "Ihhei Veral, I assume you've met our latest ally previously?"

"Yes, we've met," Veral said. "I don't understand. Ally?"

Bochra stepped around Garak. "I want to help Ambassador Spock."

Veral gaped at Garak. "You _told-_"

"Tomalak is here to find Spock, he told Bochra about his plans," Garak explained. "They're lovers, didn't you know?"

Tersely, Veral answered, "I knew."

At the same time, in the same tone, Bochra also replied, "She knew."

"Excellent, we can skip the introductions entirely, then," Garak said cheerfully. He glanced between the two tense Romulans. " … I'll go, er, catch the Ambassador up."

Bochra and Veral stood facing one another warily, neither bothering to watch him go. Bochra, who had never trusted this unnatural psion woman, had to fight hard to swallow his hatred. He was only pretending to betray Tomalak, but Veral, the man's own trusted niece, was betraying him shamelessly. And for the sake of a Vulcan! Had she really been made so arrogant by her powers that she thought herself to be more like the Vulcans than her own people? Did she really believe the Vulcans were so superior? It was disgusting.

"You're my uncle's lover, I saw it in your mind," Veral said. She was walking up to him. "True, you have always disagreed with his close-minded prejudices, but would you really go against his will this way?"

Bochra saw her extended hand, and circled around from her. He kept a considerable distance between them. Veral stopped, kept both hands clenched into fists at her sides in unwilling restraint. Bochra felt a trickle of panic shiver down his spine. Fooling Garak was one thing, but how would he be able to keep his secret agenda from a psionic Romulan and, if he met Spock, a Vulcan?

"I … believe Romulus should open its gates to the rest of the universe," Bochra said. "Tomalak would never have to know. And you, his own family, you're betraying him equally."

"I saw Tomalak less than you did during my youth," Veral pointed out. "He is my uncle. But you are his lover."

She extended her arm again, and Bochra backed away further.

"How can I trust someone that closes their mind to me?" Veral insisted. "If you truly support Ambassador Spock, why are you running away from me? Let me _see_ your honesty."

"No."

"Why?"

Suddenly, cool hands pressed against Bochra's temples. He froze, eyes wide with alarm, too stunned to move. He felt a presence probing inside his brain, thoughts flashing wildly from his mind into these cold fingers. Within seconds, he felt he had lost months of memory to some alien presence.

A calmly mature voice answered Veral's inquiry, "Because he does not support me after all. He merely thought he might glean information from our meeting to impress Tomalak with."

Bochra hit out at the hands, the air, stumbling away from the man. He made it as far as the door, but stopped before exiting. He turned, and found himself staring across the room at Ambassador Spock of Vulcan.

Before he could gather his senses, a much more feminine hand pressed near the base of his neck, on his shoulder. Within the space of a second, everything had gone dark.

"You are getting quite adept at the Vulcan nerve pinch, Veral," Spock commented. He had swept forward to catch Bochra before he hit the floor. "However, your emotional responses are still quite uncontrolled."

"I know, it's very difficult when caught off-guard," Veral said abashedly. "I met Bochra yesterday. I looked into my uncle's mind and saw their relationship. Seeing him here saying he wanted to help you … it threw me. I knew he couldn't mean it."

Garak had reappeared. "Now what?"

Spock raised his eyebrows. "That is a very good question."

**07**

When Bochra came to, he felt numb. He tried to move his arms and legs to rub them, but found them bound. He lifted his head, trying to clear his eyes, and jerked forward. His arms were tied neatly to the arms of a chair, and his legs to the chair's legs. The rope was one continuous piece, and coiled tautly around his neck and across his chest, as well. Sharp, sobering fear roused him from his unconsciousness.

"That took some time."

Bochra lifted his head. He was in a small room with a desk and cot. There was no daylight, and it was dimly lit with a single, feeble cheap lamp. Garak was leaning against the opposite wall, smug, his arms crossed. Veral sat on the bed, looking uncertain and miserable. Spock stood up from his place beside her.

"You have no idea what you're doing!" Bochra seethed, struggling against the chair. "Do you really intend to keep me here? DO YOU?!"

"Why wouldn't we?" Garak asked nonchalantly. "You are obviously a problem, and this is obviously a solution, temporary though it may be."

"You will _**never**_ get away with this!" Bochra shouted at them furiously. He did not even notice Spock's fingertips grazing the side of his neck. "NEVER!"

"And why not?" Garak shrugged.

"Because," Spock interjected, "his lover Tomalak would burn this city to the ground before he gave up searching for him." He knelt before Bochra, studying the angry young man's face and eyes. "He and Tomalak have a very strong bond. A life bond."

Bochra turned his face, refusing to look at the older Vulcan's knowing eyes. Spock repressed a smile. He recognized that kind of bond so keenly that it ached. An officer and his commander …

"Tomalak would do anything for him," Spock said softly. "They fight, they differ, but in the end, there is no one else in their lives they would go to such extreme lengths for."

Spock stood, contemplating.

"Then, what can we do with him?" Veral asked. "If we cannot keep him hostage?"

"We could always kill him," Garak suggested.

Veral glared at him. "We agreed, no casualties!"

"Fine, fine," Garak sighed. "So, what do we do with him?"

The faintest trace of a smile ghosted across Spock's lips. "We convince him to join our cause- genuinely, this time."

Garak and Veral exchanged doubtful looks.

"You will never," Bochra growled, looking up at Spock angrily. "I would _never _betray my people for you!"

Spock cocked his head. "Oh? I think that you might, once you realize that it would not, in fact, be a betrayal. Your lies actually exposed your deepest feelings: that Romulus needs to cease isolating itself from the rest of the universe. That is what made your supposed 'bluff' with Garak so convincing: the best lies always stem from a truth buried within."

"That's nonsense, Yyaio [Derogatory Romulan term for "Vulcan"; means "dead one/s"]," Bochra seethed. "I would never-"

"Oh, but you might," Spock interrupted. He paused. Then, to Garak, "Untie him."

"But why-"

"Do it," Spock ordered calmly. "He is unarmed and outnumbered."

Grumbling, Garak moved behind Bochra. He held an arm beneath his neck as he used a dagger to cut the ropes binding him. Bochra considered a desperate escape attempt, but could see no door in the room. When he was free, he stood, rubbing his wrists. Spock was before him, watching him with an unreadable and disconcerting gaze.

"Now," he said, his eyes never leaving Bochra's, "leave us."

Both Garak and Veral began to protest. Spock held up a hand.

"We will be fine. Please."

Veral used her own PADD to key in a code. A section of the front wall revealed a door, and its force field turned off. She and Garak left, and the hologram and field were instantly replaced.

"You will not escape this room without that code and my PADD," Spock informed Bochra. "You will not get the PADD or the code from me without defeating me in combat. I would rather we not waste time with such unpleasantness."

"How logical of you," scowled Bochra. "All you are really saying is that I am at your mercy, though. Isn't that right?"

"An extreme way of phrasing it, but yes, I suppose you are technically correct."

"And what do you intend to do, Yyaio?"

"Only … this."

Spock swiftly closed the distance between them, and took Bochra's face in his hands. Bochra moved his hands in protest, but the psychic invasion again froze him. Spock gently maneuvered him to sit on the bed, hands never leaving the youth's head. Their eyes met, and then everything dissolved.

* * *

It was illogical to think of any planet having anything unique, yet Earth had a smell just before a rain shower that seemed to belong only to that one blue and green orb. Having been raised on Vulcan, Spock had never smelled such a pungently moist scent before. It was illogical to think it was unique, or special, but he was finding many illogical aspects about life on Earth these days.

"Heads' up, Jim!"

Spock cocked his head in interest, watching the two human beings running through the verdant athletic fields inside the Starfleet Academy grounds. The man with the oblong brown ball was Leonard McCoy, a doctor training to be a Starfleet Medical Officer. The second man was James Tiberius Kirk.

McCoy gave the ball a strong throw. It hurtled through the air. Kirk jumped high to catch it. Spock could see their exuberance, and pondered it.

He could not rationalize the mens' excitement over the simplistic game. (Watching this memory, feeling it, Bochra's mind fleetingly observed: _It's like the children's sports on Romulus. How could any being **not** by excited by pure competition?_)

Spock only felt cold and isolated. Yet beneath his calm, beneath the Vulcan discipline, beneath the detached observation, he felt alien and alone and regretful. He regretted his father's heritage. He almost wished that he-

THEN

After McCoy had gone inside for an early lunch, Kirk joined Spock. Spock had been standing at the edge of the field, merely watching the entire game. Kirk gave him a partly baffled, partly amused smile, patted his shoulder. Spock tensed instinctively, and then reminded himself that humans sometimes used light physical blows to display affection. The reason behind this custom escaped him entirely, and no human he had met ever seemed able to fully explain it, either. Yet, they continued to carry out these senseless little rituals and gestures.

(Bochra's mind observed, again in less than a second, in this accelerated form of seamless mental communication: _He doesn't understand the close affiliation love has to pain.)_

_(_Spock's thoughts, more a projection than actual words, though understood entirely by the youth his mind had melded to, responded: _Opposing forces being associated with one another is illogical to the point of ridiculousness. Why hurt while you love? Why love while you hate?)_

_(_Bochra resisted the sentiment, though he understood it due to their psychic link: _Passion is indescribable, and can manifest in so many forms … )_

Spock and Kirk had been talking and walking. Now, Kirk sat beneath a tall tree. Spock remained standing, until Kirk tugged him down by the sleeve of his Starfleet Academy uniform. Spock stared out at the Academy grounds, while Kirk interestedly stared at him.

"You have no recreational games on Vulcan?"

"No."

"No sports?"

"We have athletic exercises, but they are not competitive."

"No competition at all?"

Spock paused. "Only intellectual competition between individuals. Of course, we all strive to be as efficient as possible."

"That's work, not play," Kirk pointed out. "Do you have any recreation at all?"

"We … value our crafts," Spock said, struggling to explain a culture so alien to these aliens. "We have art and music and literature."

"How can you have those things without emotion?"

"We feel emotion," Spock explained for the millionth time. "However, we restrain and control our emotions through stringent discipline. We coordinate ourselves- calibrate ourselves, in a way, to our situation, our environment, and our lives."

"How can you feel, and not react?" Kirk persisted. "You're half-human. You've never been in an unexpected situation? You've never reacted within the moment?"

"Not without the proper logical calculations made, no."

"Hm. That's sad." Kirk chewed this over, a smile playing on his face for reasons Spock could not discern. "Is that why you came to join Starfleet? Are you looking for random variables? You _are _half-human! Some part of you has got to want surprises."

"I joined Starfleet to experience my mother's culture," Spock said. "I am here to study human culture and to bring Vulcan perspective to Starfleet."

"That's all?"

"That is all."

"Then, why do you hang around me? And McCoy?" Kirk asked. He tossed the football up into the air, caught it. "What logical reason could there be for that?"

"You are both typically human. It was a random selection," Spock said. "Also, you are the only two that will have me. Correction- you are the only _one_ that will have me. McCoy does not desire my company, he only appeased your insistence that I join the both of you."

"McCoy will come around, he's just … "

"Xenophobic?"

"Something like that, anyway," Kirk said. He set the football down, leaned lazily against the tree. "But never mind McCoy. You do not study us particularly because no one else will have you. It was not a random choice. I refuse to believe that."

"Refusing to believe a fact is illogical."

"Why is it a fact?" Kirk asked. "Because you _say_ it is?"

"Vulcans do not lie unless-"

"You lie all the time," laughed Kirk. "Lies of omission! Every time you repress your emotions and opinions, you're lying by omission."

"That is-"

"I know, I know, illogical. So is this."

Kirk leaned over and brought his lips to Spock's. Spock went still, like a malfunctioning computer. Amazement, confusion, and many conflicting physical feelings assaulted him. Kirk's lips were soft, pressing, and as bold as he was.

"Ha!" Kirk clapped his hands in triumph after pulling away. "You see? You're reacting."

Spock stared at him, stunned. "I … have not reacted."

"Yeah, you are." Kirk traced a hand over the side of Spock's face. "You're blushing. And shock is a reaction, in a way."

"I … " Spock found himself speechless as Kirk's hand grazed his cheek. He frowned, trying to sort out his thoughts. " … Why did you do that?"

Kirk shrugged. "I wanted to see how it felt- for both of us."

"Because I am a Vulcan?"

"Because you're you." Kirk moved closer to him, looking the half-alien over with a bemused smile. "I like you, Spock, and I'd like to think we're friends. What's a little experimentation between friends?"

"Sexual experimentation is illogical," Spock said. His ears burned beneath Kirk's gaze, and he lowered his eyes. He did not notice it, but he was frowning deeply. "Sex is a mating … act. Having—_Experiencing_ it simply for the sake of the act, with no possibility of mating, is illogical."

"The body needs things, doesn't it?" Kirk pointed out. "We take nourishment when we're hungry, we relax when we're stressed, we sleep when we're fatigued. Why would satisfying this particular need be any different?"

"Because it is not a biological necessity, and therefor not a true 'need'."

"Heh. I don't know about that," Kirk scoffed.

"I am certain of it," Spock said. He stood. "It is late, and I have work to do."

"Hey, wait, don't run off scared!"

Kirk jumped to his feet and reached for Spock's arm. Instead, his hand grasped the Vulcan's. Spock knew he should pull away, but he did not. Instead, he stopped walking away, as Kirk squeezed his hand. The pressure was inexplicably pleasant.

"You came here to experience human culture, well this _is_ human culture," Kirk told him. "And this isn't the first time you try to run away from the very thing you claim to be trying to understand."

"I-"

"Wait just a minute. Listen to me," Kirk commanded. "Now, all you've done here so far is to show _us_ Vulcan culture. That's well and good, but do you really intend to spend your entire Starfleet career trying to prove your Vulcan ways are superior to ours?"

"I am not-"

"Hold on, hold on," Kirk cut him off again. "I welcome the challenge of you, Spock. You intend to prove your culture's merits, and I intend to prove mine. But I do _not_ intend to be dismissed by you. I _**will not**_ be dismissed by you. Understand?"

Spock raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed. Kirk held his hand more tightly, and pulled him closer. Their eyes met, and in that moment, they saw through to each other's core.

(Spock recollected: _That was when I knew we would be together … until the end … _)

THEN

Now Spock was aboard the Starship _Enterprise_. He was older, but still reasonably young. He had only just recovered from a harrowing experience with a mysterious affliction that removed inhibitions more strongly than alcohol intoxication. Though his body and mind were clear, his emotions were still muddled and fighting for control over him. He entered Captain James T. Kirk's personal quarters.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Captain Kirk was no longer the cadet playing sports games outside Starfleet Academy, but a fully grown man. He was handsome, and exuded an easy confidence in his command. This day, however, he was quiet, almost sheepish.

"At ease, Mr. Spock," he said with a smile. "I did not call you here for business."

"Then why did you call me?"

Kirk stood. "Don't you have any theories?"

"I do not."

Kirk chuckled, shaking his head. He stood before Spock, looking up at the taller half-Vulcan intently. "Spock, I called you here so that I could apologize to you."

Spock looked faintly puzzled. "Why?"

"The way I treated you earlier was unfair, even cruel," Kirk said. "Granted, we were afflicted, desperate-"

"You only did what was necessary, Captain. I do not fault you for any action."

"Damn it, you _should_ fault me!" Kirk said impatiently, taking Spock by the shoulders. "You should blame me! Hate me! I hurt you, Spock!"

"You struck me, and it effectively brought me back to my senses. There was nothing wrong with-"

"Of course it was wrong!" Kirk exclaimed. He paced away from Spock in exasperation. "You're my friend, you've been for a while now. My friend and … and more. And so much more. Spock!"

Spock raised his eyebrows. Human beings confused him greatly, their unrestrained passions and quick emotional responses. It was crude, obscene, and yet intriguing.

"Spock, accept my apology," Kirk said with a weary smile. He reached out and touched Spock's cheek. "Whether you find it illogical or what. Just accept it."

"Is that an order, Captain?"

Kirk grinned. "Yes." He crossed his arms. "That is an order, Mr. Spock."

"Then, I accept your apology, sir."

Kirk slid an arm around Spock's waist and brought him close. He pulled Spock's face down into a kiss, and on that night, Spock thought of their first kiss on the Starfleet Academy grounds. He thought of all the years that had passed since then: so many nights, so many kisses and revelations … so many _emotions_.

Was this the love he had never thought he was capable of?

* * *

Bochra gasped back into his own consciousness, feeling like a part of his own mind had been torn from him. He fell back atop the bed, breathing hard, trying to keep his mind from whirling around all the new memories he had tumbled through. Spock remained upright, but he leaned an arm on the cot's post.

"What did you … do to me?" Bochra asked, unable to even look at him. He shook his head, trying to remove the inflection in his voice that remained from thinking and speaking through Spock's point of view.

"That was the Vulcan mind meld. Surely, you're heard of this technique?"

Bochra looked at him in pained horror. "Your life … your … _soul_ … I lived your life, at the same time I was living my own memories, I … We were … "

"We were one being."

Bochra drew his knees up to his chest, curled up on the cot trembling like a small animal. "Mmph."

Spock placed a hand on the youth's shoulder. "You will center back on your own identity soon. The division will pass. The memories, however, never will."

"You were like me," Bochra said quietly. "The Captain's lover … his dearest secret."

"And a man that sometimes clashed with the views of his people," Spock said. He smiled just a bit. "Or shall I say, a man who _clashes_ with the wishes of his people, as I am still going against their wishes."

Bochra sat up, rubbing his arms. "You really do wish the best for Romulus and Vulcan," he said, finally meeting the Vulcan's dark eyes. " … You believe that the Vulcan people can learn from our passion, from our occasional lack of restraint. At the same time, you believe that Romulan people can learn from the Vulcan methods of emotional discipline. You intend to balance both our cultures out, and share our history and traditions with one another."

Spock nodded.

"You're doing this because you're alone."

"Perhaps partly."

"You're a Vulcan, but … you've felt so deeply," Bochra marveled. He stared at his hands. "You saw Taibak in my mind. I always thought those feelings he had were solely due to his Romulan blood."

"Obviously, they were not," Spock told him. "Vulcans do feel. We are not so dead inside, after all, are we?"

"But both you and Taibak were half-alien," Bochra said. His body had calmed, and his mind was coming back into itself. "The one thing about yourself that you grew up loathing, being a half-breed, is now what you fight to bring to the rest of our people. You believe extremes should not exist. You believe the extremes both our races have lived in for so long has led to an encroaching entropy for both worlds."

"Yes," Spock affirmed. "And if those extremes are not softened soon, I believe both our worlds will stagnate until they begin to decay."

"By which time, it will be too late for both of us," Bochra said. "You're disappointed in Vulcan. Despite the many years of Federation alliance, your people remained largely isolated from outside culture. But the Romulan people are descended from our ancestors on Vulcan. We are sibling races, and thus you believe it will be easier for our cultures to mesh than it is for Vulcans to mesh with humans. And that will be a stepping stone towards opening both our cultures up to others."

"Yes."

Bochra thought through a long silence, as Spock waited patiently. Even though they sat mere inches apart on the cot, they felt light years apart. Bochra still had the residual ache for Spock's mind and memories, as an amputee aches for their missing limb. The experience had been more binding than sex, and it was all the more frightening and beautiful for it.

"Did your Captain truly love you as much as he seemed to?" Bochra asked.

"I believe that he did," Spock replied. "Even when we were not physically together, we were always-" A tiny, emotional pause that was utterly human. "-bonded in spirit. Captain Kirk … Jim was my lover, my best friend, the first human that ever plainly took me for myself, while trying to teach me how to be a better self at the same time. He was my true love."

"You saw Tomalak through my eyes," Bochra said, anxiously twisting the thin bed sheet in his fingers. "Do you think that he loves me that much?"

"I believe that he does, although his way of expressing it is often highly illogical," Spock said. "In my experience, it is common for love to often resemble hate among the more emotional species. This is one of the reasons a unification would be good for Romulans."

"You can't understand his violence."

"I understand why you accept it from him," Spock said, "but personally, I cannot understand it, no. I also have seen that you sometimes feel it is too cruel."

"Tomalak is harsh, but … "

"You feel you need and deserve harshness."

"I do."

"Do you?"

"Well, yes!" Bochra exclaimed. He climbed down from the bed, pacing the small room. "Look at me! I failed Tomalak in my attempt to help him. I let myself be captured and mentally violated by _you_. And now … "

Spock stood. "Now, you are contemplating aiding me honestly."

"How could I do that?" Bochra asked bitterly. "How _could_ I betray Tomalak that way? You saw my memories, you know my loyalty to him. Even if I did think this would help the Empire, which I'm still not certain of, how could I hurt Tomalak that way?"

"I am not asking anything of you, and I will not tell you how or why you should or should not do this," Spock said. "I will hide elsewhere, with others, given that I have been discovered. You can inform Tomalak of these events, or not. You can find me again, or not."

Bochra stopped pacing and stared at him. "You'll just let me go?"

"Of course," Spock said. "You will not tell Tomalak that his niece has betrayed him, you have already decided that. As for Garak and I, we are adept at disappearing when necessary. There is no logical reason to keep you captive, especially when that would lead Tomalak to search fervently for you."

"You know everything there is to know about me up to this moment," Bochra said uneasily. "Why won't you argue your cause to me?"

"Because you have seen my reasons and my plans already."

"And you think that is sufficient?" Bochra asked. "Sufficient enough to lead me to sabotage Tomalak's mission? Sufficient enough to jeopardize Romulan culture? This is why we say you are dead inside! Threaten, explain, argue! You intend to change the course of history, and yet you cannot even fight for what you believe in?"

"I have fought with everything I have: with my very life," Spock pointed out. "What argument can I make that will prove anything that a lifetime of memories leading to this moment cannot?"

"You rarely open your mind in a Vulcan mind meld," Bochra said. His head was still swimming with Spock's memories, and he struggled to look back on them without losing himself in them. "You prefer to keep your mind shielded during telepathy of any kind. Yet you let _me_ in. Why?"

"I already knew something of you from Veral," Spock explained. "She shared the thoughts she gained from her uncle with me. You reminded me of myself."

"A Vulcan being sentimental?"

"No. I simply believed our common ground may make us allies."

"That's right! You _knew_!" Bochra exclaimed. "I saw it in your mind. You _knew_ that I would get Garak to lead me to you, in one way or the other. You saw the way all this would play out. You are eighty-point-five-percent positive that I will now join your cause."

"Correct."

"Vulcans!" Bochra exclaimed in frustration. "You cannot calculate the actions of sentient beings! Any species, even your own! The actions of an individual are based on so many intricate causes, have so many variables, that they _cannot_ be predicted! I am not a math problem that you've solved!"

"No, you are a young man that I understand, and that understands me."

Bochra turned his face scornfully. "This isn't fair. Communication should not be so complete. It's … invasive, wrong." He turned back to Spock and pointed accusingly at him. "You had no right to bind us in that way! You had no right to … to rape my own mind! Can you understand that? How arrogant it was of you? How cruel?"

Spock said nothing, watching him expressionlessly.

"You take objection to Tomalak's supposed 'abuse', but he would never do something like this to me."

"No, he would not," Spock agreed. "He does not even share his life with you in words, how could he ever share it this completely?"

Bochra swallowed hard. "That's not fair."

Silence between the two.

"If I can go, I want to go now," Bochra said. "My head is hurting. I can't take any more of you, Vulcan. I can't … I can't stand to be anywhere near you after what we shared."

"I understand." Spock removed his PADD and triggered the hidden doorway. He held up a hand. "Jolan'tru."

Bochra just scowled and tore out of the door. He rushed past Veral in the storage room, but was blocked by Garak at the shop's front door. Spock followed, and gave Garak a nod.

Garak's eyes widened, but he stepped aside. Bochra pushed past him and left.

"Was that a good idea?" Garak asked Spock.

Spock met the Cardassian's eyes evenly. Though he could not read a Cardassian mind due to their mental training tradition, he knew enough to distrust him.

"It may have been, or not," Spock said simply. "For the time, it would be best to hide ourselves elsewhere."

"Wonderful," Garak said dourly. "Funny how illogical your actions can be at times."

"I took a fully calculated risk."

"In other words, a gamble."

Spock's mouth twitched minutely, almost smiled. "I have learned many things from humans in my time. Believe me, I know how and when to gamble."

Garak blinked, and could think of nothing more to say.

**08**

Bochra shut himself in his own hotel room, one of the small, plain rooms on the lower levels the hotel had designed especially for visiting Galae troops. For hours, he sat on his bed, staring nowhere, as Spock's long, strange life washed through his mind.

An invisible force field shielded the windows in the evening, as the golden daylight darkened into orange and blood red hues. Dark purple clouds shrouded the skies. Even inside, one could smell the hot sand as it began to dust the air of Jhimm. Wind whispered, louder and louder until it howled and whistled through the streets. The crowds sought shelter indoors, and windows lit one by one as the streets emptied a person at a time.

Bochra did not see the room or the view of the wind-whipped city. He saw the green grounds of Starfleet Academy. Now, separated from Spock's mind, he was able to feel and understand the youthful excitement of the human cadets. He could see a time long past with perfect clarity: the now outdated Starfleet Academy uniforms, the handsome and popular youth Captain Kirk was, the openness and ease of human life. He felt as alien as Spock had, watching these memories like a short film. So, this was human life, the foundation of Starfleet.

Outside, the weather stirred into a dusty frenzy. The air thickened, infused with the desert sand. It swept in ethereal waves through the city, rustling the fanning tree leaves that framed the streets. They bent to its force slightly, and looked as if they pointed to the looming mountains in the horizon.

Bochra felt himself, as Spock, strolling through the old _Enterprise_. It was disorganized and crude. Bochra wondered if Romulan ships had ever been that shoddy. Yet, the crew was close, warm, unafraid of one another. They reminded him of Dralath, Kaol, and Vriha. As Spock did, he felt alone and cold. Both he and the Vulcan affiliated with the others, but it never rang true for either of them. Bochra was amazed to find that two such different beings from two such different times and worlds, could experience such similar feelings.

_We are more alike than unalike, _he thought, eyes lit with realization. _A Vulcan-human half-breed, and a pure-blooded Romulan. Yet, we are both … We are both men. Only confused and lonely men, ensconced in our own insecurities and doubts, entrapped in our love._

Bochra stood and walked to the window. He gazed out at the city engulfed in flying sand. _And I do believe Romulus would benefit from seeing what I have seen today. I always had my doubts about the Empire's xenophobia, and now that doubt has been refined into pure resistance. I won't ever be the same again. First Galorndon Core, and now … this … _

_I wish I had never seen the worth in that human Geordi. I wish I had never melded with Spock. I wish that I were the perfect Romulan loyalist that I pretend to be. I wish it were so simple, so black and white. I wish I did not always find myself living in the gray._

Bochra squinted through the thickening sand-filled winds at the buildings. The city was so blurred that it almost looked as if it were underwater. He felt an odd sense of vertigo, though he was not on a very high floor.

_But I **am** different. In every single way, I am different, separate from the norm. Spock hated feeling that way, but eventually he came to appreciate it. Will I ever feel that way? I no longer feel disgusted with myself, and I no longer naively believe I can be changed by Tomalak, or anyone else. All his discipline and concern for me cannot sway me … What if he can't accept those things I can't change once he realizes that? Will I lose him for being who I am? Should I sacrifice what I believe for him? I want to, but **can** I?_

_On the other hand, can I lose him? Would I be able to survive that? It tore me open and apart when I thought I had lost him back on the home world three months ago. Do I really want to risk feeling that miserable again?_

There was a knock on the door. Bochra drew a deep breath and shut his eyes. He opened the door without a word, and Tomalak was there. They exchanged a quick kiss, and Tomalak suggested they have dinner in his room. Bochra followed him.

_I see him through different eyes, eyes that have seen far too much than I ever should have seen, _Bochra thought worriedly. _Not in comparison to what Spock had with Kirk, but in contrast to it. Just being with him is anchoring me back in my own life, my own skin._

The halls of the hotel were empty, as most of the guests were still out in restaurants or bars. On Tomalak's floor, Bochra took his hand into his own. Tomalak gave him a quizzical look, and Bochra smiled softly up at him.

_I should tell him. I need to tell him about Garak and Spock. I can't hurt him by telling him Veral betrayed him, but I must help him succeed in his mission. I have to._

Yet, Bochra could not open his mouth to say the words. They were in Tomalak's room soon. There was food soon. They were eating and conversing lightly about their day. The words continued to escape Bochra.

"Is something wrong?"

Bochra snapped out of his introspection. "Hm?"

"You're distracted tonight," Tomalak said. "Did you want to go rent a holosuite?"

Bochra shook his head. "No, forget the holosuites. Tomalak … " He reached across the table and took the hand Tomalak had rested there. "What I want is to talk to you. I want you to tell me what you refused to tell me this morning. I want to know why you fight so hard to protect the ones you love."

Tomalak's lips thinned into a line. He set his glass down, and put his other hand atop Bochra's. Bochra suddenly wished that they had the ability to meld their minds together. He wished that through this simple physical touch, they could fly into one another's souls.

"You always try so hard to be strong for me, but … I can be strong for you, too," Bochra said. "I'm not the child that needs to be protected anymore, I haven't been since Galorndon Core. I always want you to look out for me, but you need to know that I can look out for _you_."

Tomalak was frowning deeply, and he looked almost frightened. Bochra felt his hand tighten rigidly, saw the set of his jawline. He was tempted to open up, Bochra saw, but he was too proud, too used to being perfect.

"I will always love you," Bochra said. "You will never disappoint me. Why can't you let me see you? You've always, _always_ seen every side of me."

"There is nothing to see." Tomalak snatched his hand away. Blushing, he took up his utensils and continued eating, though he had seemed to have been done with his meal. "What is all this talk of opening up? Why do you need to know every last detail of my past? It changes nothing about who I am now."

"It made you who you are now," Bochra said. "It made you into the man I love. I'd like to know the important things. I want to know what that pain is in your eyes when you're afraid for me. I want to know what made the man that nearly sent Romulus to war with the Federation for the sake of two lost soldiers."

Tomalak shook his head, frustrated. "I need my full concentration for this mission I am on to find Spock. I have no time for reminiscences and confessions. We will talk, I promised you that, but not tonight."

"And not tomorrow night, and not until you find Spock, and not until we're in space again, and not until we're back on Romulus again," Bochra said impatiently. "You don't ever intend to tell me, do you?"

Tomalak said nothing. Bochra bowed his head. Unable to stand the look on the youth's face, Tomalak stood from the table. He put the empty plates back on the service cart, and then went to the room's small bar. He poured a glass of aylihl.

Outside, the sandstorm moaned its mournful notes through the streets and alleys and open patios. The sand twirled into fleeting patterns and then passed on. Except for these ghostly, transient images of sand, the city was empty.

* * *

_Right from the start  
You were a thief  
You stole my heart  
And I your willing victim  
I let you see the parts of me  
That weren't all that pretty  
And with every touch you fixed them_

_Now you've been talking in your sleep, oh, oh_  
_Things you never say to me, oh, oh_  
_Tell me that you've had enough_  
_Of our love, our love_

_Just give me a reason_  
_Just a little bit's enough_  
_Just a second we're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_  
_It's in the stars_  
_It's been written in the scars on our hearts_  
_We're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_

_I'm sorry I don't understand_  
_Where all of this is coming from_  
_I thought that we were fine_  
_(Oh, we had everything)_  
_Your head is running wild again_  
_My dear we still have everythin'_  
_And it's all in your mind_  
_(Yeah, but this is happenin')_

_You've been havin' real bad dreams, oh, oh_  
_You used to lie so close to me, oh, oh_  
_There's nothing more than empty sheets_  
_Between our love, our love_  
_Oh, our love, our love_

_Just give me a reason_  
_Just a little bit's enough_  
_Just a second we're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_  
_I never stopped_  
_You're still written in the scars on my heart_  
_You're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_

_Oh, tear ducts and rust_  
_I'll fix it for us_  
_We're collecting dust_  
_But our love's enough_  
_You're holding it in_  
_You're pouring a drink_  
_No nothing is as bad as it seems_  
_We'll come clean_

_Just give me a reason_  
_Just a little bit's enough_  
_Just a second we're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_  
_It's in the stars_  
_It's been written in the scars on our hearts_  
_That we're not broken just bent_  
_And we can learn to love again_

"_Just Give Me A Reason" – Pink featuring Nate Ruess_

**END OF PART ONE **

**Closing Notes**

That Bochra, he is still very emo, isn't he? Most of my characters are. I remain fixed in a permanently emo state. That term is sorely lacking and outdated, but nonetheless … it fits. Society and politics are confusing, let's face it. What do you believe, but where do you stand? What if your loved ones don't agree with you? What if you're endangered by your beliefs, or simply hated? In real life, these issues are always relevant, perhaps more so than ever given how easy the digital age makes expressing your opinions, for better or worse. I'm a fan of the soap opera, so there it is.

Bochra is also a little less idealistic. He is a Romulan, after all, and we saw how entrenched in his ways on Galorndon Core, before he warmed to Geordi. I wanted to make a point that those prejudices bred into him (and every Romulan) since birth do not leave one as easily as one might hope. Bochra is open-minded, but he is also prone to fall back into those patterns. Everything was well and good for him with Geordi, who is one of Starfleet's nicest guys period. His first experience with humans was positive. Not so easy to be open-minded when your first experience is negative, and that is why Bochra has fallen back into the old pattern of generalization with the Cardassians. Also, when he first meets Spock, and throws a racial slur at him. The more things change … the more difficult it is to change them. Just ask McCoy.

At this point, Bochra and Tomalak are well settled into their relationship. The disciplinary aspect is taken for granted, Bochra shrugged off that unusual aspect in the last story. Of course, trouble in paradise will always rear its head, and this time it's the head of … Spock!

Once again, I do regret the fact that Romulan inner politics were ignored in the Star Trek mythos. The Empire's "face" may be one of a homogeneous, one-minded organism, but they aren't The Borg. They aren't under military command, like the Cardassian Union. They have a political system that is more sophisticated than bloodline rule, even if it is riddled with agendas and backstabbing (whose political system isn't?). The most important thing to remember is that they're people in a society, like any other. We see the occasional independent-thinking Romulan, such as Jarok, or Bochra for two seconds on Galorndon Core. They're elitist, but they are critical thinkers, anyway. So here we see more fractures in Romulan unity, the beginnings of dissent and open-mindedness. Spock always wished to nurture those sparks of change. Whether he succeeded or not remains to be seen. No, I do _not _accept Romulus being destroyed, as seen in Abrams' reboot movie. I'm sorry, I won't ever accept that as part of the ST canon, not on the mainstream continuum. It's too simple a solution to the Federation/Romulan power struggle, idiotic even. It made a hell of a movie, don't get me wrong, but … it didn't happen. Not really. NOPE.

Spock is halfway between the versions we've seen of him in The Original Series and TNG's "Unification" arc. His experiences in life have chipped away at his Vulcan demeanor, as evidenced by a faint near-sense of humor, and his rebellious determination to act on his own. I have acknowledged that he had an affair with Kirk during TOS. I did not want to make a huge deal out of it, Spock and Kirk's relationship would need/deserve its own story to do that, but I had to throw in a few small, sweet scenes. More than that, I wanted to touch lightly upon the symmetry between Bochra and Spock, a thing I hadn't even realized until I wrote Spock into my stories. Captains (or those ranking _Riov_) get a lot of action, don't they? I suppose it is a Star Trek slash staple: the captain and his crew. Hey, everyone loves a captain! How many times have we seen Picard slashed with Data (a couple I do ship)? And Kirk/Spock practically started the ST slash scene. It sounds illicit when put that way, but I try to portray the caring captain, and true love.

This is my biggest cast. I always like making up Romulan characters. They are so mainstreamed in the military on camera, but even so, you see their individuality just a tiny bit (depending on the actor's abilities, anyway), such as Tomalak's temper, which was evidenced in the very last episodes of TNG even. I also needed a larger number of players for this tale, since it is an event plot.

Dralath came from some Romulan role-playing books I read, which described Romulan costume and the differences between regions on the planet. I wanted the idea of a Romulan country boy to come across, what would _that _be like? I imagine Dralath comes from a family involved with agriculture: definitely not plow-in-hand farming, given the advanced technology of Romulus, but a family that grew up very close and worked the farming machinery and technology. Perhaps Dralath, with his love of combat and adventure, was bored by the prospect of spending his life in such a serene setting, and after Serona, decided to stick with the Galae.

Vriha is obviously old Romulan military blood. She is the definition of being _born_ pure Romulan: elitist, dedicated, strong, ambitious. She is of the martial artist mindset, a fighter through and through. I liked to contrast this with her usage of make-up (such as the dark purple lipstick). Romulan society has closed the gender gap. Her teasing of the Ferengi Omog, I liked that scene. Dabo men! Well, _I _think it's a good idea!

Kaol was an interesting character. I wanted to show the result of a capable soldier who simply does not want to _be _a capable soldier. Serona takes a chunk of every Romulan citizen's life, forces them into military service. I imagine Kaol intended to take a stand and return to school following Serona, but he simply never could face his family (especially his mother, I see him having a very intimidating mother) and make this announcement, let alone submit for removal from service. Kaol knows who he is exactly, the problem is that he has always lacked the courage to be that person.

Veral was a major addition. I apologize if the names 'Veral' and 'Vriha' have confused anyone. By the time I noticed the similarity, it was too late, I was used to their names as is. Never have two characters with names that start with the same letter, I think that's someone's writing rule … I am not good at writing with rules, obviously. In any case, Veral is both a psion and Tomalak's niece. She is also one of Spock's staunchest supporters. This is a woman who is a victim of her culture, the misfit who feels more strongly about a foreign culture than their own. In present-day Earth, we see this all the time: Westerners who love Asian cultures in Japan, China, etc, non-urban citizens who live for rap and hip hop, urban citizens that love country music, those are only a few examples from the United States. Sadly, even in real life, we do see the backlash against the open-minded from time to time, we see those that take advantage and parody certain cultures while pretending to appreciate them, we see the tired old line "if you're [this culture/race/class/etc] then stop acting like [other culture/race/class/etc]". I wanted to show this close-minded mentality that Romulus adheres to, and I think I succinctly summed it up in the fact that they use the word "throwback" to describe the psions, and probably also any Romulan that identifies more with the Vulcan ways. Veral has grown up with these labels and worse. She lives on the very fringes of Romulan society, and only as some kind of novelty, at that. A believer and student of the Vulcan ways, she has taken her stand with Spock, out of logic (Spock's unification plan is a logical solution for many of the Romulan problems) and also out of a spark of Romulan passion. Even with the way the Empire has abused her, Veral has used her subscription to the Vulcan ways to leave her anger at them behind. She bears no ill will towards Romulus. Her efforts are solely aimed at solving the problem, rather than bemoaning or denying it. In a way, Veral has the serenity and surety of the newly-converted religious. The Vulcan ways _are _a religion of a kind, if not a spiritual or deity-based one. The secondary definition of "religion" is as stated: "A specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects". The Vulcans believe in reason over emotion. This _is _a belief. They are not the Borg, not programmed or genetically predisposed to be unemotional or to see emotions as unimportant, they _believe _this is the best way to live, and so they adhere to their rules in order to live that way.

The second part of this story is to come, and it gets dark. I hope you've enjoyed this enough to stick around for it. Sneak preview: "Gul Dukat! An unexpected Spock supporter! A new love affair! Tomalak's confession! Betrayal! Spock's final escape to Romulus! And … MURDER! Who doesn't survive Zireka IV's spy games? Next time, on I, ROMULAN!"

… Yeah, I had to do it. I watch a lot of television.


End file.
